Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

In which the old Man launches forth into his favourite Theme, and relates a Story about a queer Clie

           Thereisnotapanelintheoldwainscotting,butwhat,ifitwereendowedwiththepowersofspeechandmemory,couldstartfromthewall,andtellitstaleofhorror—theromanceoflife,Sir,theromanceoflife!Common-placeastheymayseemnow,Itellyoutheyarestrangeoldplaces,andIwouldratherhearmanyalegendwithaterrific-soundingname,thanthetruehistoryofoneoldsetofchambers.’

           Therewassomethingsooddintheoldman’ssuddenenergy,andthesubjectwhichhadcalleditforth,thatMr.Pickwickwaspreparedwithnoobservationinreply;andtheoldmancheckinghisimpetuosity,andresumingtheleer,whichhaddisappearedduringhispreviousexcitement,said—

           ‘Lookattheminanotherlight—theirmostcommon-placeandleastromantic.Whatfineplacesofslowtorturetheyare!Thinkoftheneedymanwhohasspenthisall,beggaredhimself,andpinchedhisfriends,toentertheprofession,whichisdestinednevertoyieldhimamorselofbread.Thewaiting—thehope—thedisappointment—thefear—themisery—thepoverty—theblightonhishopes,andendtohiscareer—thesuicideperhaps,ortheshabby,slipshoddrunkard.AmInotrightaboutthem?’Andtheoldmanrubbedhishands,andleeredasifindelightathavingfoundanotherpointofviewinwhichtoplacehisfavouritesubject.

           Mr.Pickwickeyedtheoldmanwithgreatcuriosity,andtheremainderofthecompanysmiled,andlookedoninsilence.

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