Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

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

           

           ‘Beneathaplaingravestone,inoneofthemostpeacefulandsecludedchurchyardsinKent,wherewildflowersminglewiththegrass,andthesoftlandscapearoundformsthefairestspotinthegardenofEngland,liethebonesoftheyoungmotherandhergentlechild.Buttheashesofthefatherdonotminglewiththeirs;nor,fromthatnightforward,didtheattorneyevergaintheremotestcluetothesubsequenthistoryofhisqueerclient.’Astheoldmanconcludedhistale,headvancedtoapeginonecorner,andtakingdownhishatandcoat,putthemonwithgreatdeliberation;and,withoutsayinganotherword,walkedslowlyaway.AsthegentlemanwiththeMosaicstudshadfallenasleep,andthemajorpartofthecompanyweredeeplyoccupiedinthehumorousprocessofdroppingmeltedtallow-greaseintohisbrandy-and-water,Mr.Pickwickdepartedunnoticed,andhavingsettledhisownscore,andthatofMr.Weller,issuedforth,incompanywiththatgentleman,frombeneaththeportaloftheMagpieandStump.

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