Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

The Story of the Goblins who stole a Sexton

           Thesexton’sbrainwhirledroundwiththerapidityofthemotionhebeheld,andhislegsreeledbeneathhim,asthespiritsflewbeforehiseyes;whenthegoblinking,suddenlydartingtowardshim,laidhishanduponhiscollar,andsankwithhimthroughtheearth.

           ‘WhenGabrielGrubhadhadtimetofetchhisbreath,whichtherapidityofhisdescenthadforthemomenttakenaway,hefoundhimselfinwhatappearedtobealargecavern,surroundedonallsidesbycrowdsofgoblins,uglyandgrim;inthecentreoftheroom,onanelevatedseat,wasstationedhisfriendofthechurchyard;andclosebehindhimstoodGabrielGrubhimself,withoutpowerofmotion.

           ‘"Coldto-night,"saidthekingofthegoblins,"verycold.Aglassofsomethingwarmhere!"

           ‘Atthiscommand,halfadozenofficiousgoblins,withaperpetualsmileupontheirfaces,whomGabrielGrubimaginedtobecourtiers,onthataccount,hastilydisappeared,andpresentlyreturnedwithagobletofliquidfire,whichtheypresentedtotheking.

           ‘"Ah!"criedthegoblin,whosecheeksandthroatweretransparent,ashetosseddowntheflame,"thiswarmsone,indeed!Bringabumperofthesame,forMr.Grub.

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