Посмертні записки Піквікського клубу

A pleasant Day with an unpleasant Termination

           Anoldoakaffordedapleasantsheltertothegroup,andarichprospectofarableandmeadowland,intersectedwithluxurianthedges,andrichlyornamentedwithwood,layspreadoutbeforethem.

           ‘Thisisdelightfulthoroughlydelightful!’saidMr.Pickwick;theskinofwhoseexpressivecountenancewasrapidlypeelingoff,withexposuretothesun.

           ‘Soitissoitis,oldfellow,’repliedWardle.‘Come;aglassofpunch!’

           ‘Withgreatpleasure,’saidMr.Pickwick;thesatisfactionofwhosecountenance,afterdrinkingit,boretestimonytothesincerityofthereply.

           ‘Good,’saidMr.Pickwick,smackinghislips.‘Verygood.I’lltakeanother.Cool;verycool.Come,gentlemen,’continuedMr.Pickwick,stillretaininghisholduponthejar,‘atoast.OurfriendsatDingleyDell.’

           Thetoastwasdrunkwithloudacclamations.

           ‘I’lltellyouwhatIshalldo,togetupmyshootingagain,’saidMr.Winkle,whowaseatingbreadandhamwithapocket-knife.‘I’llputastuffedpartridgeonthetopofapost,andpractiseatit,beginningatashortdistance,andlengtheningitbydegrees.Iunderstandit’scapitalpractice.’

           ‘Iknowagen’l’man,Sir,’saidMr.Weller,‘asdidthat,andbegunattwoyards;buthenevertrieditonagin;forheblowedthebirdrightcleanawayatthefirstfire,andnobodyeverseedafeatheronhimarterwards.’

           ‘Sam,’saidMr.Pickwick.

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