Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

A pleasant Day with an unpleasant Termination

           

           ‘SideofOne-treeHill,attwelveo’clock,Sir.’

           ‘That’snotSirGeoffrey’sland,isit?’

           ‘No,Sir;butit’sclosebyit.It’sCaptainBoldwig’sland;butthere’llbenobodytointerruptus,andthere’safinebitofturfthere.’

           ‘Verywell,’saidoldWardle.‘Nowthesoonerwe’reoffthebetter.Willyoujoinusattwelve,then,Pickwick?’

           Mr.Pickwickwasparticularlydesiroustoviewthesport,themoreespeciallyashewasratheranxiousinrespectofMr.Winkle’slifeandlimbs.Onsoinvitingamorning,too,itwasverytantalisingtoturnback,andleavehisfriendstoenjoythemselves.Itwas,therefore,withaveryruefulairthathereplied

           ‘Why,IsupposeImust.’

           ‘Ain’tthegentlemanashot,Sir?’inquiredthelonggamekeeper.

           ‘No,’repliedWardle;‘andhe’slamebesides.’

           ‘Ishouldverymuchliketogo,’saidMr.Pickwick‘verymuch.’

           Therewasashortpauseofcommiseration.

           ‘There’sabarrowt’othersidethehedge,’saidtheboy.‘Ifthegentleman’sservantwouldwheelalongthepaths,hecouldkeepnighus,andwecouldliftitoverthestiles,andthat.’

           ‘Thewerything,’saidMr.Weller,whowasapartyinterested,inasmuchasheardentlylongedtoseethesport.‘Thewerything.Wellsaid,Smallcheek;I’llhaveitoutinaminute.

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