Посмертні записки Піквікського клубу

Mr. Pickwick journeys to Ipswich and meets with a romantic Adventure with a middle-aged Lady in yell

           Pickwick.’

           Atthebarenotionofsuchacalamity,Mr.PeterMagnusrangthebellforthechambermaid;andthestripedbag,theredbag,theleathernhat-box,andthebrown-paperparcel,havingbeenconveyedtohisbedroom,heretiredincompanywithajapannedcandlestick,toonesideofthehouse,whileMr.Pickwick,andanotherjapannedcandlestick,wereconductedthroughamultitudeoftortuouswindings,toanother.

           ‘Thisisyourroom,sir,’saidthechambermaid.

           ‘Verywell,’repliedMr.Pickwick,lookingroundhim.Itwasatolerablylargedouble-beddedroom,withafire;uponthewhole,amorecomfortable-lookingapartmentthanMr.Pickwick’sshortexperienceoftheaccommodationsoftheGreatWhiteHorsehadledhimtoexpect.

           ‘Nobodysleepsintheotherbed,ofcourse,’saidMr.Pickwick.

           ‘Oh,no,Sir.’

           ‘Verygood.Tellmyservanttobringmeupsomehotwaterathalf-pasteightinthemorning,andthatIshallnotwanthimanymoreto-night.’

           ‘Yes,Sir,’andbiddingMr.Pickwickgood-night,thechambermaidretired,andlefthimalone.

           Mr.Pickwicksathimselfdowninachairbeforethefire,andfellintoatrainoframblingmeditations.Firsthethoughtofhisfriends,andwonderedwhentheywouldjoinhim;thenhismindrevertedtoMrs.MarthaBardell;andfromthatladyitwandered,byanaturalprocess,tothedingycounting-houseofDodson&Fogg.

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