Посмертні записки Піквікського клубу

Which is all about the Law, and sundry Great Authorities learned therein

           Lowten,holdingthedoorhalfopen,wasinconversationwitharustily-clad,miserable-lookingman,inbootswithouttoesandgloveswithoutfingers.Thereweretracesofprivationandsufferingalmostofdespairinhislankandcare-worncountenance;hefelthispoverty,forheshranktothedarksideofthestaircaseasMr.Pickwickapproached.

           ‘It’sveryunfortunate,’saidthestranger,withasigh.

           ‘Very,’saidLowten,scribblinghisnameonthedoorpostwithhispen,andrubbingitoutagainwiththefeather.‘Willyouleaveamessageforhim?’

           ‘Whendoyouthinkhe’llbeback?’inquiredthestranger.

           ‘Quiteuncertain,’repliedLowten,winkingatMr.Pickwick,asthestrangercasthiseyestowardstheground.

           ‘Youdon’tthinkitwouldbeofanyusemywaitingforhim?’saidthestranger,lookingwistfullyintotheoffice.

           ‘Oh,no,I’msureitwouldn’t,’repliedtheclerk,movingalittlemoreintothecentreofthedoorway.‘He’scertainnottobebackthisweek,andit’sachancewhetherhewillbenext;forwhenPerkeroncegetsoutoftown,he’sneverinahurrytocomebackagain.’

           ‘Outoftown!’saidMr.Pickwick;‘dearme,howunfortunate!’

           ‘Don’tgoaway,Mr.Pickwick,’saidLowten,‘I’vegotaletterforyou.’Thestranger,seemingtohesitate,oncemorelookedtowardstheground,andtheclerkwinkedslylyatMr.

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