Посмертні записки Піквікського клубу

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

           

           ‘PoorQuankoneverrecovereditbowledon,onmyaccountbowledoff,onhisowndied,sir.’Herethestrangerburiedhiscountenanceinabrownjug,butwhethertohidehisemotionorimbibeitscontents,wecannotdistinctlyaffirm.Weonlyknowthathepausedsuddenly,drewalonganddeepbreath,andlookedanxiouslyon,astwooftheprincipalmembersoftheDingleyDellclubapproachedMr.Pickwick,andsaid

           ‘WeareabouttopartakeofaplaindinnerattheBlueLion,Sir;wehopeyouandyourfriendswilljoinus.’‘Ofcourse,’saidMr.Wardle,‘amongourfriendsweincludeMr.—;’andhelookedtowardsthestranger.

           ‘Jingle,’saidthatversatilegentleman,takingthehintatonce.‘JingleAlfredJingle,Esq.,ofNoHall,Nowhere.’

           ‘Ishallbeveryhappy,Iamsure,’saidMr.Pickwick.‘SoshallI,’saidMr.AlfredJingle,drawingonearmthroughMr.Pickwick’s,andanotherthroughMr.Wardle’s,ashewhisperedconfidentiallyintheearoftheformergentleman:—

           ‘Devilishgooddinnercold,butcapitalpeepedintotheroomthismorningfowlsandpies,andallthatsortofthingpleasantfellowsthesewellbehaved,toovery.’

           Therebeingnofurtherpreliminariestoarrange,thecompanystraggledintothetowninlittleknotsoftwosandthrees;andwithinaquarterofanhourwereallseatedinthegreatroomoftheBlueLionInn,MuggletonMr.

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