Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

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

           Pickwick,gaspingnolessfromexcitementthanfromtheexpenditureofsomuchenergy,‘comeonbothofyoubothofyou!’Withthisliberalinvitationtheworthygentlemancommunicatedarevolvingmotiontohisclenchedfists,bywayofappallinghisantagonistswithadisplayofscience.

           ItmighthavebeenMr.Pickwick’sveryunexpectedgallantry,oritmighthavebeenthecomplicatedmannerinwhichhehadgothimselfoutofbed,andfallenallinamassuponthehornpipeman,thattouchedhisadversaries.Touchedtheywere;for,insteadofthenandtheremakinganattempttocommitman–slaughter,asMr.Pickwickimplicitlybelievedtheywouldhavedone,theypaused,staredateachotherashorttime,andfinallylaughedoutright.

           ‘Well,you’reatrump,andIlikeyouallthebetterforit,’saidtheZephyr.‘Nowjumpintobedagain,oryou’llcatchtherheumatics.Nomalice,Ihope?’saidtheman,extendingahandthesizeoftheyellowclumpoffingerswhichsometimesswingsoveraglover’sdoor.

           ‘Certainlynot,’saidMr.Pickwick,withgreatalacrity;for,nowthattheexcitementwasover,hebegantofeelrathercoolaboutthelegs.

           ‘AllowmetheH-onour,’saidthegentlemanwiththewhiskers,presentinghisdexterhand,andaspiratingtheh.

           ‘Withmuchpleasure,sir,’saidMr.Pickwick;andhavingexecutedaverylongandsolemnshake,hegotintobedagain.

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