Посмертні записки Піквікського клубу

Containing the Story of the Bagman’s Uncle

           

           ‘"Isthefarepaid?"inquiredmyuncle.

           ‘"Ofcourseitis,"rejoinedtheguard.

           ‘"itis,isit?"saidmyuncle."Thenheregoes!Whichcoach?"

           ‘"This,"saidtheguard,pointingtoanold-fashionedEdinburghandLondonmail,whichhadthestepsdownandthedooropen."Stop!Herearetheotherpassengers.Letthemgetinfirst."

           ‘Astheguardspoke,thereallatonceappeared,rightinfrontofmyuncle,ayounggentlemaninapowderedwig,andasky-bluecoattrimmedwithsilver,madeveryfullandbroadintheskirts,whichwerelinedwithbuckram.TigginandWelpswereintheprintedcalicoandwaistcoatpieceline,gentlemen,somyuncleknewallthematerialsatonce.Heworekneebreeches,andakindofleggingsrolledupoverhissilkstockings,andshoeswithbuckles;hehadrufflesathiswrists,athree-corneredhatonhishead,andalongtaperswordbyhisside.Theflapsofhiswaist-coatcamehalf-waydownhisthighs,andtheendsofhiscravatreachedtohiswaist.Hestalkedgravelytothecoachdoor,pulledoffhishat,andhelditabovehisheadatarm’slength,cockinghislittlefingerintheairatthesametime,assomeaffectedpeopledo,whentheytakeacupoftea.Thenhedrewhisfeettogether,andmadealow,gravebow,andthenputouthislefthand.

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Roboto Lora
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