Посмертні записки Піквікського клубу

In which the old Man launches forth into his favourite Theme, and relates a Story about a queer Clie

           Nearlyalltheinmatesoftheprisonhadassembledtowitnessitsremoval;theyfellbackoneithersidewhenthewidowerappeared;hewalkedhurriedlyforward,andstationedhimself,alone,inalittlerailedareaclosetothelodgegate,fromwhencethecrowd,withaninstinctivefeelingofdelicacy,hadretired.Therudecoffinwasborneslowlyforwardonmen’sshoulders.Adeadsilencepervadedthethrong,brokenonlybytheaudiblelamentationsofthewomen,andtheshufflingstepsofthebearersonthestonepavement.Theyreachedthespotwherethebereavedhusbandstood:andstopped.Helaidhishanduponthecoffin,andmechanicallyadjustingthepallwithwhichitwascovered,motionedthemonward.Theturnkeysintheprisonlobbytookofftheirhatsasitpassedthrough,andinanothermomenttheheavygateclosedbehindit.Helookedvacantlyuponthecrowd,andfellheavilytotheground.

           ‘Althoughformanyweeksafterthis,hewaswatched,nightandday,inthewildestravingsoffever,neithertheconsciousnessofhisloss,northerecollectionofthevowhehadmade,everlefthimforamoment.Sceneschangedbeforehiseyes,placesucceededplace,andeventfollowedevent,inallthehurryofdelirium;buttheywereallconnectedinsomewaywiththegreatobjectofhismind.Hewassailingoveraboundlessexpanseofsea,withablood-redskyabove,andtheangrywaters,lashedintofurybeneath,boilingandeddyingup,oneveryside.

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Roboto Lora
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