Посмертні записки Піквікського клубу

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

           Whentheyalltiredofblind-man’sbuff,therewasagreatgameatsnap-dragon,andwhenfingersenoughwereburnedwiththat,andalltheraisinsweregone,theysatdownbythehugefireofblazinglogstoasubstantialsupper,andamightybowlofwassail,somethingsmallerthananordinarywash–housecopper,inwhichthehotappleswerehissingandbubblingwitharichlook,andajollysound,thatwereperfectlyirresistible.

           ‘This,’saidMr.Pickwick,lookingroundhim,‘thisis,indeed,comfort.’‘Ourinvariablecustom,’repliedMr.Wardle.‘EverybodysitsdownwithusonChristmasEve,asyouseethemnowservantsandall;andherewewait,untiltheclockstrikestwelve,tousherChristmasin,andbeguilethetimewithforfeitsandoldstories.Trundle,myboy,rakeupthefire.’

           Upflewthebrightsparksinmyriadsasthelogswerestirred.Thedeepredblazesentfortharichglow,thatpenetratedintothefarthestcorneroftheroom,andcastitscheerfultintoneveryface.

           ‘Come,’saidWardle,‘asongaChristmassong!I’llgiveyouone,indefaultofabetter.’

           ‘Bravo!’saidMr.Pickwick.

           ‘Fillup,’criedWardle.‘Itwillbetwohours,good,beforeyouseethebottomofthebowlthroughthedeeprichcolourofthewassail;fillupallround,andnowforthesong.

Налаштування
Фон сторінки
Розмір шрифту
Міжрядковий інтервал
Фразові дієслова
Показати / Приховати меню
Шрифт
Roboto Lora
Уведомления
Сторінка 635 з 1301