Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

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

           Hergarmentsrustledassherushedtowardsthedoor.

           ‘Ma’am,’saidMr.Pickwick,thrustingouthishead.intheextremityofhisdesperation,‘ma’am!’

           Now,althoughMr.Pickwickwasnotactuatedbyanydefiniteobjectinputtingouthishead,itwasinstantaneouslyproductiveofagoodeffect.Thelady,aswehavealreadystated,wasnearthedoor.Shemustpassit,toreachthestaircase,andshewouldmostundoubtedlyhavedonesobythistime,hadnotthesuddenapparitionofMr.Pickwick’snightcapdrivenherbackintotheremotestcorneroftheapartment,whereshestoodstaringwildlyatMr.Pickwick,whileMr.Pickwickinhisturnstaredwildlyather.

           ‘Wretch,’saidthelady,coveringhereyeswithherhands,‘whatdoyouwanthere?’

           ‘Nothing,ma’am;nothingwhatever,ma’am,’saidMr.Pickwickearnestly.

           ‘Nothing!’saidthelady,lookingup.

           ‘Nothing,ma’am,uponmyhonour,’saidMr.Pickwick,noddinghisheadsoenergetically,thatthetasselofhisnightcapdancedagain.‘Iamalmostreadytosink,ma’am,beneaththeconfusionofaddressingaladyinmynightcap(heretheladyhastilysnatchedoffhers),butIcan’tgetitoff,ma’am(hereMr.Pickwickgaveitatremendoustug,inproofofthestatement).Itisevidenttome,ma’am,now,thatIhavemistakenthisbedroomformyown.Ihadnotbeenherefiveminutes,ma’am,whenyousuddenlyenteredit.

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