Посмертні записки Піквікського клубу

A good-humoured Christmas Chapter, containing an Account of a Wedding, and some other Sports beside:

           

           ‘Hereweare!’exclaimedthatgentleman,emergingwithhisprettycompanionfromthecorner;ashedidso,itwouldhavebeenhardtotellwhichwastheredderintheface,heortheyoungladywiththeblackeyes.

           ‘Whatanextraordinarythingitis,Winkle,’saidMr.Pickwick,ratherpettishly,‘thatyoucouldn’thavetakenyourplacebefore.’

           ‘Notatallextraordinary,’saidMr.Winkle.

           ‘Well,’saidMr.Pickwick,withaveryexpressivesmile,ashiseyesrestedonArabella,‘well,Idon’tknowthatitWASextraordinary,either,afterall.’

           However,therewasnotimetothinkmoreaboutthematter,forthefiddlesandharpbeganinrealearnest.AwaywentMr.Pickwickhandsacrossdownthemiddletotheveryendoftheroom,andhalf-wayupthechimney,backagaintothedoorpoussetteeverywhereloudstamponthegroundreadyforthenextcoupleoffagainallthefigureoveroncemoreanotherstamptobeatoutthetimenextcouple,andthenext,andthenextagainneverwassuchgoing;atlast,aftertheyhadreachedthebottomofthedance,andfullfourteencoupleaftertheoldladyhadretiredinanexhaustedstate,andtheclergyman’swifehadbeensubstitutedinherstead,didthatgentleman,whentherewasnodemandwhateveronhisexertions,keepperpetuallydancinginhisplace,tokeeptimetothemusic,smilingonhispartnerallthewhilewithablandnessofdemeanourwhichbafflesalldescription.

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