Посмертні записки Піквікського клубу

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

           Youseethesplendidly-dressedyoungmancomingthisway?’

           ‘Theonewiththelonghair,andtheparticularlysmallforehead?’inquiredMr.Pickwick.

           ‘Thesame.TherichestyoungmaninBa-athatthismoment.YoungLordMutanhed.’

           ‘Youdon’tsayso?’saidMr.Pickwick.

           ‘Yes.You’llhearhisvoiceinamoment,Mr.Pickwick.He’llspeaktome.Theothergentlemanwithhim,intheredunder-waistcoatanddarkmoustache,istheHonourableMr.Crushton,hisbosomfriend.Howdoyoudo,myLord?’

           ‘Vewayhot,Bantam,’saidhisLordship.

           ‘ItISverywarm,myLord,’repliedtheM.C.

           ‘Confounded,’assentedtheHonourableMr.Crushton.

           ‘HaveyouseenhisLordship’smail-cart,Bantam?’inquiredtheHonourableMr.Crushton,afterashortpause,duringwhichyoungLordMutanhedhadbeenendeavouringtostareMr.Pickwickoutofcountenance,andMr.CrushtonhadbeenreflectingwhatsubjecthisLordshipcouldtalkaboutbest.

           ‘Dearme,no,’repliedtheM.C.‘Amail-cart!Whatanexcellentidea.Re-markable!’

           ‘Gwaciousheavens!’saidhisLordship,‘Ithoughtevewebodyhadseenthenewmail-cart;it’stheneatest,pwettiest,gwacefullestthingthateverwanuponwheels.Paintedwed,withacweampiebald.’

           ‘Witharealboxfortheletters,andallcomplete,’saidtheHonourableMr.Crushton.

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