Посмертні записки Піквікського клубу

           Begyourpardon,sir,’saidSam,whenhehadconcluded,‘butwenIgetsonthisheregrievance,Irunsonlikeanewbarrowwiththewheelgreased.’Havingsaidwhich,andhavingpausedforaninstanttoseewhetherhewaswantedforanythingmore,Samlefttheroom.

           ‘Half-pastnine—justthetime—offatonce;’saidthegentleman,whomweneedhardlyintroduceasMr.Jingle.

           ‘Time—forwhat?’saidthespinsterauntcoquettishly.

           ‘Licence,dearestofangels—givenoticeatthechurch—callyoumine,to-morrow’—saidMr.Jingle,andhesqueezedthespinsteraunt’shand.

           ‘Thelicence!’saidRachael,blushing.

           ‘Thelicence,’repeatedMr.Jingle—

           ‘Inhurry,post-hasteforalicence,

           Inhurry,dingdongIcomeback.’

           ‘Howyourunon,’saidRachael.

           ‘Runon—nothingtothehours,days,weeks,months,years,whenwe’reunited—runon—they’llflyon—bolt—mizzle—steam-engine—thousand-horsepower—nothingtoit.’

           ‘Can’t—can’twebemarriedbeforeto-morrowmorning?’inquiredRachael.‘Impossible—can’tbe—noticeatthechurch—leavethelicenceto-day—ceremonycomeoffto-morrow.’‘Iamsoterrified,lestmybrothershoulddiscoverus!’saidRachael.