Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

A good-humoured Christmas Chapter, containing an Account of a Wedding, and some other Sports beside:

           Thencametheteaandcoffee;andthen,theball.

           Thebestsitting-roomatManorFarmwasagood,long,dark-panelledroomwithahighchimney-piece,andacapaciouschimney,upwhichyoucouldhavedrivenoneofthenewpatentcabs,wheelsandall.Attheupperendoftheroom,seatedinashadybowerofhollyandevergreenswerethetwobestfiddlers,andtheonlyharp,inallMuggleton.Inallsortsofrecesses,andonallkindsofbrackets,stoodmassiveoldsilvercandlestickswithfourbrancheseach.Thecarpetwasup,thecandlesburnedbright,thefireblazedandcrackledonthehearth,andmerryvoicesandlight-heartedlaughterrangthroughtheroom.IfanyoftheoldEnglishyeomenhadturnedintofairieswhentheydied,itwasjusttheplaceinwhichtheywouldhaveheldtheirrevels.

           Ifanythingcouldhaveaddedtotheinterestofthisagreeablescene,itwouldhavebeentheremarkablefactofMr.Pickwick’sappearingwithouthisgaiters,forthefirsttimewithinthememoryofhisoldestfriends.

           ‘Youmeantodance?’saidWardle.

           ‘OfcourseIdo,’repliedMr.Pickwick.‘Don’tyouseeIamdressedforthepurpose?’Mr.Pickwickcalledattentiontohisspeckledsilkstockings,andsmartlytiedpumps.

           ‘YOUinsilkstockings!’exclaimedMr.Tupmanjocosely.

           ‘Andwhynot,sirwhynot?’saidMr.Pickwick,turningwarmlyuponhim.‘Oh,ofcoursethereisnoreasonwhyyoushouldn’twearthem,’respondedMr.Tupman.

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