Посмертні записки Піквікського клубу

Comprising a brief Description of the Company at the Peacock assembled; and a Tale told by a Bagman

           

           ‘Ah!nomistakeaboutthat,’saidaveryred-facedman,behindacigar.

           Afterthislittlebitofphilosophytherewasanotherpause.

           ‘There’srummerthingsthanwomeninthisworldthough,mindyou,’saidthemanwiththeblackeye,slowlyfillingalargeDutchpipe,withamostcapaciousbowl.

           ‘Areyoumarried?’inquiredthedirty-facedman.

           ‘Can’tsayIam.’

           ‘Ithoughtnot.’Herethedirty-facedmanfellintoecstasiesofmirthathisownretort,inwhichhewasjoinedbyamanofblandvoiceandplacidcountenance,whoalwaysmadeitapointtoagreewitheverybody.

           ‘Women,afterall,gentlemen,’saidtheenthusiasticMr.Snodgrass,‘arethegreatpropsandcomfortsofourexistence.’

           ‘Sotheyare,’saidtheplacidgentleman.

           ‘Whenthey’reinagoodhumour,’interposedthedirty-facedman.

           ‘Andthat’sverytrue,’saidtheplacidone.

           ‘Irepudiatethatqualification,’saidMr.Snodgrass,whosethoughtswerefastrevertingtoEmilyWardle.‘Irepudiateitwithdisdainwithindignation.Showmethemanwhosaysanythingagainstwomen,aswomen,andIboldlydeclareheisnotaman.’AndMr.Snodgrasstookhiscigarfromhismouth,andstruckthetableviolentlywithhisclenchedfist.

           ‘That’sgoodsoundargument,’saidtheplacidman.

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Roboto Lora
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