Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

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

           Wellerimpressively;‘ifyoudon’tsleepalittleless,andexercisealittlemore,wenyoucomestobeamanyou’lllayyourselfopentothesamesortofpersonalinconwenienceaswasinflictedontheoldgen’l’m’nasworethepigtail.’

           ‘Whatdidtheydotohim?’inquiredthefatboy,inafalteringvoice.

           ‘I’ma-goingtotellyou,’repliedMr.Weller;‘hewasoneo’thelargestpatternsaswaseverturnedoutreg’larfatman,ashadn’tcaughtaglimpseofhisownshoesforfive-and-fortyyear.’

           ‘Lor!’exclaimedEmma.

           ‘No,thathehadn’t,mydear,’saidMr.Weller;‘andifyou’dputanexactmodelofhisownlegsonthedinin’-tableaforehim,hewouldn’tha’known’em.Well,healwayswalkstohisofficewithaweryhandsomegoldwatch-chainhangingout,aboutafootandaquarter,andagoldwatchinhisfobpocketaswasworthI’mafraidtosayhowmuch,butasmuchasawatchcanbealarge,heavy,roundmanufacter,asstoutforawatch,ashewasforaman,andwithabigfaceinproportion."You’dbetternotcarrythat‘erewatch,"saystheoldgen’l’m’n’sfriends,"you’llberobbedonit,"saysthey."ShallI?"sayshe."Yes,youwill,"saysthey.

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