Посмертні записки Піквікського клубу

In which Mr. Pickwick thinks he had better go to Bath; and goes accordingly

           Theymustputtheirnamesdown.Where’sthebook?’

           ‘TheregisterofthedistinguishedvisitorsinBa-athwillbeatthePumpRoomthismorningattwoo’clock,’repliedtheM.C.‘Willyouguideourfriendstothatsplendidbuilding,andenablemetoprocuretheirautographs?’

           ‘Iwill,’rejoinedDowler.‘Thisisalongcall.It’stimetogo.Ishallbehereagaininanhour.Come.’

           ‘Thisisaball-night,’saidtheM.C.,againtakingMr.Pickwick’shand,asherosetogo.‘Theball-nightsinBa-atharemomentssnatchedfromparadise;renderedbewitchingbymusic,beauty,elegance,fashion,etiquette,andandaboveall,bytheabsenceoftradespeople,whoarequiteinconsistentwithparadise,andwhohaveanamalgamationofthemselvesattheGuildhalleveryfortnight,whichis,tosaytheleast,remarkable.Good-bye,good-bye!’andprotestingallthewaydownstairsthathewasmostsatisfied,andmostdelighted,andmostoverpowered,andmostflattered,AngeloCyrusBantam,Esquire,M.C.,steppedintoaveryelegantchariotthatwaitedatthedoor,andrattledoff.

           Attheappointedhour,Mr.Pickwickandhisfriends,escortedbyDowler,repairedtotheAssemblyRooms,andwrotetheirnamesdowninthebookaninstanceofcondescensionatwhichAngeloBantamwasevenmoreoverpoweredthanbefore.Ticketsofadmissiontothatevening’sassemblyweretohavebeenpreparedforthewholeparty,butastheywerenotready,Mr.

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