Посмертні записки Піквікського клубу

           ‘Yes,ma’am—damnthatJoe!—treacherousdog,Joe—toldtheoldlady—oldladyfurious—wild—raving—arbour—Tupman—kissingandhugging—allthatsortofthing—eh,ma’am—eh?’

           ‘Mr.Jingle,’saidthespinsteraunt,‘ifyoucomehere,Sir,toinsultme—’

           ‘Notatall—bynomeans,’repliedtheunabashedMr.Jingle—‘overheardthetale—cametowarnyouofyourdanger—tendermyservices—preventthehubbub.Nevermind—thinkitaninsult—leavetheroom’—andheturned,asiftocarrythethreatintoexecution.

           ‘WhatSHALLIdo!’saidthepoorspinster,burstingintotears.‘Mybrotherwillbefurious.’

           ‘Ofcoursehewill,’saidMr.Jinglepausing—‘outrageous.’‘Oh,Mr.Jingle,whatCANIsay!’exclaimedthespinsteraunt,inanotherfloodofdespair.

           ‘Sayhedreamtit,’repliedMr.Jinglecoolly.

           Arayofcomfortdartedacrossthemindofthespinsterauntatthissuggestion.Mr.Jingleperceivedit,andfolloweduphisadvantage.

           ‘Pooh,pooh!—nothingmoreeasy—blackguardboy—lovelywoman—fatboyhorsewhipped—youbelieved—endofthematter—allcomfortable.