Посмертні записки Піквікського клубу

Too full of Adventure to be briefly described

           

           Hewalkedontiptoeacrossthemoistgravel,andtappedatthedoor.Heheldhisbreath,andlistenedatthekey-hole.Noreply:veryodd.Anotherknock.Helistenedagain.Therewasalowwhisperinginside,andthenavoicecried

           ‘Who’sthere?’

           ‘That’snotJob,’thoughtMr.Pickwick,hastilydrawinghimselfstraightupagainstthewallagain.‘It’sawoman.’

           Hehadscarcelyhadtimetoformthisconclusion,whenawindowabovestairswasthrownup,andthreeorfourfemalevoicesrepeatedthequery‘Who’sthere?’

           Mr.Pickwickdarednotmovehandorfoot.Itwasclearthatthewholeestablishmentwasroused.Hemadeuphismindtoremainwherehewas,untilthealarmhadsubsided;andthenbyasupernaturaleffort,togetoverthewall,orperishintheattempt.

           LikeallMr.Pickwick’sdeterminations,thiswasthebestthatcouldbemadeunderthecircumstances;but,unfortunately,itwasfoundedupontheassumptionthattheywouldnotventuretoopenthedooragain.Whatwashisdiscomfiture,whenheheardthechainandboltswithdrawn,andsawthedoorslowlyopening,widerandwider!Heretreatedintothecorner,stepbystep;butdowhathewould,theinterpositionofhisownperson,preventeditsbeingopenedtoitsutmostwidth.

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