Посмертні записки Піквікського клубу

How Mr. Winkle, instead of shooting at the Pigeon and killing the Crow, shot at the Crow and wounded

           Showthegentlemanthewaythere;d’yehear?’

           Theboydepartedtoexecutehiscommission;andthehost,carryingbothgunslikeasecondRobinsonCrusoe,ledthewayfromthegarden.

           ‘Thisistheplace,’saidtheoldgentleman,pausingafterafewminuteswalking,inanavenueoftrees.Theinformationwasunnecessary;fortheincessantcawingoftheunconsciousrookssufficientlyindicatedtheirwhereabouts.

           Theoldgentlemanlaidonegunontheground,andloadedtheother.

           ‘Heretheyare,’saidMr.Pickwick;and,ashespoke,theformsofMr.Tupman,Mr.Snodgrass,andMr.Winkleappearedinthedistance.Thefatboy,notbeingquitecertainwhichgentlemanhewasdirectedtocall,hadwithpeculiarsagacity,andtopreventthepossibilityofanymistake,calledthemall.

           ‘Comealong,’shoutedtheoldgentleman,addressingMr.Winkle;‘akeenhandlikeyououghttohavebeenuplongago,eventosuchpoorworkasthis.’

           Mr.Winklerespondedwithaforcedsmile,andtookupthesparegunwithanexpressionofcountenancewhichametaphysicalrook,impressedwithaforebodingofhisapproachingdeathbyviolence,maybesupposedtoassume.Itmighthavebeenkeenness,butitlookedremarkablylikemisery.Theoldgentlemannodded;andtworaggedboyswhohadbeenmarshalledtothespotunderthedirectionoftheinfantLambert,forthwithcommencedclimbinguptwoofthetrees.‘Whataretheseladsfor?’inquiredMr.Pickwickabruptly.

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