Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

The first Day’s Journey, and the first Evening’s Adventures; with their Consequences

           Snodgrass;‘plentyofammunition,incasetheshotsdon’ttakeeffect.There’saquarterofapoundofpowderinthecase,andIhavegottwonewspapersinmypocketfortheloadings.’

           Thesewereinstancesoffriendshipforwhichanymanmightreasonablyfeelmostgrateful.Thepresumptionis,thatthegratitudeofMr.Winklewastoopowerfulforutterance,ashesaidnothing,butcontinuedtowalkonratherslowly.

           ‘Weareinexcellenttime,’saidMr.Snodgrass,astheyclimbedthefenceofthefirstfield;‘thesunisjustgoingdown.’Mr.Winklelookedupatthedecliningorbandpainfullythoughtoftheprobabilityofhis‘goingdown’himself,beforelong.

           ‘There’stheofficer,’exclaimedMr.Winkle,afterafewminuteswalking.‘Where?’saidMr.Snodgrass.

           ‘Therethegentlemaninthebluecloak.’Mr.Snodgrasslookedinthedirectionindicatedbytheforefingerofhisfriend,andobservedafigure,muffledup,ashehaddescribed.Theofficerevincedhisconsciousnessoftheirpresencebyslightlybeckoningwithhishand;andthetwofriendsfollowedhimatalittledistance,ashewalkedaway.

           Theeveninggrewmoredulleverymoment,andamelancholywindsoundedthroughthedesertedfields,likeadistantgiantwhistlingforhishouse-dog.ThesadnessofthesceneimpartedasombretingetothefeelingsofMr.Winkle.Hestartedastheypassedtheangleofthetrenchitlookedlikeacolossalgrave.

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