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What befell Mr. Pickwick when he got into the Fleet; what Prisoners he saw there; and how he passed

           ‘Whydon’tyouaskthegentlemanwhathe’lltake?’

           ‘Dearme,Iquiteforgot,’repliedtheother.‘Whatwillyoutake,sir?Willyoutakeportwine,sir,orsherrywine,sir?Icanrecommendtheale,sir;orperhapsyou’dliketotastetheporter,sir?Allowmetohavethefelicityofhangingupyournightcap,Sir.’

           Withthis,thespeakersnatchedthatarticleofdressfromMr.Pickwick’shead,andfixeditinatwinklingonthatofthedrunkenman,who,firmlyimpressedwiththebeliefthathewasdelightinganumerousassembly,continuedtohammerawayatthecomicsonginthemostmelancholystrainsimaginable.

           Takingaman’snightcapfromhisbrowbyviolentmeans,andadjustingitontheheadofanunknowngentleman,ofdirtyexterior,howeveringeniousawitticisminitself,isunquestionablyoneofthosewhichcomeunderthedenominationofpracticaljokes.Viewingthematterpreciselyinthislight,Mr.Pickwick,withouttheslightestintimationofhispurpose,sprangvigorouslyoutofbed,strucktheZephyrsosmartablowinthechestastodeprivehimofaconsiderableportionofthecommoditywhichsometimesbearshisname,andthen,recapturinghisnightcap,boldlyplacedhimselfinanattitudeofdefence.

           ‘Now,’saidMr.

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