Посмертні записки Піквікського клубу

Too full of Adventure to be briefly described

           

           ‘Ringthealarmbell,somebody!’criedadozenvoices.

           ‘Don’t—don’t,’shoutedMr.Pickwick.‘Lookatme.DoIlooklikearobber!Mydearladies—youmaybindmehandandleg,orlockmeupinacloset,ifyoulike.OnlyhearwhatIhavegottosay—onlyhearme.’

           ‘Howdidyoucomeinourgarden?’falteredthehousemaid.

           ‘Calltheladyofthehouse,andI’lltellhereverything,’saidMr.Pickwick,exertinghislungstotheutmostpitch.‘Callher—onlybequiet,andcallher,andyoushallheareverything.’

           ItmighthavebeenMr.Pickwick’sappearance,oritmighthavebeenhismanner,oritmighthavebeenthetemptation—irresistibletoafemalemind—ofhearingsomethingatpresentenvelopedinmystery,thatreducedthemorereasonableportionoftheestablishment(somefourindividuals)toastateofcomparativequiet.Bythemitwasproposed,asatestofMr.Pickwick’ssincerity,thatheshouldimmediatelysubmittopersonalrestraint;andthatgentlemanhavingconsentedtoholdaconferencewithMissTomkins,fromtheinteriorofaclosetinwhichthedayboardershungtheirbonnetsandsandwich-bags,heatoncesteppedintoit,ofhisownaccord,andwassecurelylockedin.Thisrevivedtheothers;andMissTomkinshavingbeenbroughtto,andbroughtdown,theconferencebegan.

           ‘Whatdidyoudoinmygarden,man?’saidMissTomkins,inafaintvoice.

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Roboto Lora
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