Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

Wherein Mr. Peter Magnus grows jealous, and the middle-aged Lady apprehensive, which brings the Pick

           PeterMagnusindulgedinaprolongedsneer;andtakingoffhisgreenspectacleswhichheprobablyfoundsuperfluousinhisfitofjealousyrolledhislittleeyesabout,inamannerfrightfultobehold.

           ‘Eh?’saidMr.Magnus;andthenherepeatedthesneerwithincreasedeffect.‘Butyoushallanswerit,Sir.’

           ‘Answerwhat?’saidMr.Pickwick.

           ‘Nevermind,sir,’repliedMr.Magnus,stridingupanddowntheroom.‘Nevermind.’

           Theremustbesomethingverycomprehensiveinthisphraseof‘Nevermind,’forwedonotrecollecttohaveeverwitnessedaquarrelinthestreet,atatheatre,publicroom,orelsewhere,inwhichithasnotbeenthestandardreplytoallbelligerentinquiries.‘Doyoucallyourselfagentleman,sir?’—‘Nevermind,sir.’‘DidIoffertosayanythingtotheyoungwoman,sir?’—‘Nevermind,sir.’‘Doyouwantyourheadknockedupagainstthatwall,sir?’—‘Nevermind,sir.’Itisobservable,too,thattherewouldappeartobesomehiddentauntinthisuniversal‘Nevermind,’whichrousesmoreindignationinthebosomoftheindividualaddressed,thanthemostlavishabusecouldpossiblyawaken.

           Wedonotmeantoassertthattheapplicationofthisbrevitytohimself,struckexactlythatindignationtoMr.Pickwick’ssoul,whichitwouldinfalliblyhaverousedinavulgarbreast.WemerelyrecordthefactthatMr.

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