Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

How Mr. Winkle, when he stepped out of the Frying-pan, walked gently and comfortably into the Fire

           

           ‘Mygoodfellow,’saidMr.Winkle,extendinghishandhisteethchatteringallthetimehespoke,forhehadbeenstanding,duringthewholeofMr.Weller’slecture,inhisnight-gear—‘mygoodfellow,Irespectyourattachmenttomyexcellentfriend,andIamverysorryindeedtohaveaddedtohiscausesfordisquiet.There,Sam,there!’

           ‘Well,’saidSam,rathersulkily,butgivingtheprofferedhandarespectfulshakeatthesametime—‘well,soyououghttobe,andIamverygladtofindyouair;for,ifIcanhelpit,Iwon’thavehimputuponbynobody,andthat’sallaboutit.’

           ‘Certainlynot,Sam,’saidMr.Winkle.‘There!Nowgotobed,Sam,andwe’lltalkfurtheraboutthisinthemorning.’

           ‘I’mwerysorry,’saidSam,‘butIcan’tgotobed.’

           ‘Notgotobed!’repeatedMr.Winkle.

           ‘No,’saidSam,shakinghishead.‘Can’tbedone.’

           ‘Youdon’tmeantosayyou’regoingbackto-night,Sam?’urgedMr.Winkle,greatlysurprised.

           ‘Notunlessyouparticklerlywishit,’repliedSam;‘butImustn’tleavethishereroom.Thegovernor’sorderswosperemptory.’

           ‘Nonsense,Sam,’saidMr.

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