Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

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

           

           Muzzleretired;andapale,sharp-nosed,half-fed,shabbily-cladclerk,ofmiddleage,enteredtheroom.

           ‘Mr.Jinks,’saidthemagistrate.‘Mr.Jinks.’

           ‘Sir,’saidMr.Jinks.‘Thislady,Mr.Jinks,hascomehere,togiveinformationofanintendedduelinthistown.’

           Mr.Jinks,notknowingexactlywhattodo,smiledadependent’ssmile.

           ‘Whatareyoulaughingat,Mr.Jinks?’saidthemagistrate.

           Mr.Jinkslookedseriousinstantly.

           ‘Mr.Jinks,’saidthemagistrate,‘you’reafool.’

           Mr.Jinkslookedhumblyatthegreatman,andbitthetopofhispen.

           ‘Youmayseesomethingverycomicalinthisinformation,SirbutIcantellyouthis,Mr.Jinks,thatyouhaveverylittletolaughat,’saidthemagistrate.

           Thehungry-lookingJinkssighed,asifhewerequiteawareofthefactofhishavingverylittleindeedtobemerryabout;and,beingorderedtotakethelady’sinformation,shambledtoaseat,andproceededtowriteitdown.

           ‘Thisman,Pickwick,istheprincipal,Iunderstand?’saidthemagistrate,whenthestatementwasfinished.

           ‘Heis,’saidthemiddle-agedlady.

           ‘Andtheotherrioterwhat’shisname,Mr.Jinks?’

           ‘Tupman,Sir.’‘Tupmanisthesecond?’

           ‘Yes.

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