Посмертні записки Піквікського клубу

In which Mr. Samuel Weller begins to devote his Energies to the Return Match between himself and Mr.

           

           ‘Very,very,Sir,’repliedMr.Trotter,withoutmovingamuscleofhisface.‘Butshakehands,Mr.Weller.’

           Sameyedhiscompanionforafewseconds,andthen,asifactuatedbyasuddenimpulse,compliedwithhisrequest.‘How,’saidJobTrotter,astheywalkedaway,‘howisyourdear,goodmaster?Oh,heisaworthygentleman,Mr.Weller!Ihopehedidn’tcatchcold,thatdreadfulnight,Sir.’

           TherewasamomentarylookofdeepslynessinJobTrotter’seye,ashesaidthis,whichranathrillthroughMr.Weller’sclenchedfist,asheburnedwithadesiretomakeademonstrationonhisribs.Samconstrainedhimself,however,andrepliedthathismasterwasextremelywell.

           ‘Oh,Iamsoglad,’repliedMr.Trotter;‘ishehere?’

           ‘Isyourn?’askedSam,bywayofreply.

           ‘Oh,yes,heishere,andIgrievetosay,Mr.Weller,heisgoingonworsethanever.’

           ‘Ah,ah!’saidSam.

           ‘Oh,shockingterrible!’

           ‘Ataboarding-school?’saidSam.

           ‘No,notataboarding-school,’repliedJobTrotter,withthesameslylookwhichSamhadnoticedbefore;‘notataboarding-school.’

           ‘Atthehousewiththegreengate?’saidSam,eyeinghiscompanionclosely.

           ‘No,nooh,notthere,’repliedJob,withaquicknessveryunusualtohim,‘notthere.

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