Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

A pleasant Day with an unpleasant Termination

           Doyouhear,Hunt;doyouhear?’

           ‘I’llnotforgetit,Sir.’

           ‘Ibegyourpardon,Sir,’saidtheotherman,advancing,withhishandtohishat.

           ‘Well,Wilkins,what’sthematterwithyou?’saidCaptainBoldwig.

           ‘Ibegyourpardon,sirbutIthinktherehavebeentrespassershereto-day.’

           ‘Ha!’saidthecaptain,scowlingaroundhim.

           ‘Yes,sirtheyhavebeendininghere,Ithink,sir.’

           ‘Why,damntheiraudacity,sotheyhave,’saidCaptainBoldwig,asthecrumbsandfragmentsthatwerestrewnuponthegrassmethiseye.‘Theyhaveactuallybeendevouringtheirfoodhere.IwishIhadthevagabondshere!’saidthecaptain,clenchingthethickstick.

           ‘IwishIhadthevagabondshere,’saidthecaptainwrathfully.

           ‘Begyourpardon,sir,’saidWilkins,‘but—’

           ‘Butwhat?Eh?’roaredthecaptain;andfollowingthetimidglanceofWilkins,hiseyesencounteredthewheel-barrowandMr.Pickwick.

           ‘Whoareyou,yourascal?’saidthecaptain,administeringseveralpokestoMr.Pickwick’sbodywiththethickstick.‘What’syourname?’

           ‘Coldpunch,’murmuredMr.Pickwick,ashesanktosleepagain.

           ‘What?’demandedCaptainBoldwig.

           Noreply.

           ‘Whatdidhesayhisnamewas?’askedthecaptain.

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