Ярмарка тщеславия

Our Friend the Major

           Lookhere,Ihaveitinmybook.‘April10,1815,CaptainOsborne:‘3pounds.’Iwonderwhetherhisfatherwouldpayme,"andsosaying,JohnoftheSlaughters’pulledouttheverymoroccopocket-bookinwhichhehadnotedhisloantotheCaptain,uponagreasyfadedpagestillextant,withmanyotherscrawledmemorandaregardingthebygonefrequentersofthehouse.

           Havinginductedhiscustomerintotheroom,Johnretiredwithperfectcalmness;andMajorDobbin,notwithoutablushandagrinathisownabsurdity,choseoutofhiskittheverysmartestandmostbecomingcivilcostumehepossessed,andlaughedathisowntannedfaceandgreyhair,ashesurveyedtheminthedrearylittletoilet-glassonthedressing-table.

           "I’mgladoldJohndidn’tforgetme,"hethought."She’llknowme,too,Ihope."Andhesalliedoutoftheinn,bendinghisstepsoncemoreinthedirectionofBrompton.

           EveryminuteincidentofhislastmeetingwithAmeliawaspresenttotheconstantman’smindashewalkedtowardsherhouse.ThearchandtheAchillesstatuewereupsincehehadlastbeeninPiccadilly;ahundredchangeshadoccurredwhichhiseyeandmindvaguelynoted.HebegantotrembleashewalkedupthelanefromBrompton,thatwell-rememberedlaneleadingtothestreetwhereshelived.

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