Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

Mr. Pickwick journeys to Ipswich and meets with a romantic Adventure with a middle-aged Lady in yell

           Pickwick.Sheismorelikelytofeelthelonelinessofhersituationintravelling,perhaps,thanshewouldbeathome.Whatdoyouthink,Mr.Pickwick?’

           ‘Ithinkitisveryprobable,’repliedthatgentleman.

           ‘Ibegyourpardon,Mr.Pickwick,’saidMr.PeterMagnus,‘butIamnaturallyrathercurious;whatmayyouhavecomedownherefor?’

           ‘Onafarlesspleasanterrand,Sir,’repliedMr.Pickwick,thecolourmountingtohisfaceattherecollection.‘Ihavecomedownhere,Sir,toexposethetreacheryandfalsehoodofanindividual,uponwhosetruthandhonourIplacedimplicitreliance.’

           ‘Dearme,’saidMr.PeterMagnus,‘that’sveryunpleasant.Itisalady,Ipresume?Eh?ah!Sly,Mr.Pickwick,sly.Well,Mr.Pickwick,sir,Iwouldn’tprobeyourfeelingsfortheworld.Painfulsubjects,these,sir,verypainful.Don’tmindme,Mr.Pickwick,ifyouwishtogiveventtoyourfeelings.Iknowwhatitistobejilted,Sir;Ihaveenduredthatsortofthingthreeorfourtimes.’

           ‘Iammuchobligedtoyou,foryourcondolenceonwhatyoupresumetobemymelancholycase,’saidMr.Pickwick,windinguphiswatch,andlayingitonthetable,‘but

           ‘No,no,’saidMr.PeterMagnus,‘notawordmore;it’sapainfulsubject.Isee,Isee.What’sthetime,Mr.Pickwick?’‘Pasttwelve.’

           ‘Dearme,it’stimetogotobed.Itwillneverdo,sittinghere.Ishallbepaleto-morrow,Mr.

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