Посмертні записки Піквікського клубу

How Mr. Winkle, when he stepped out of the Frying-pan, walked gently and comfortably into the Fire

           Howdidyoufindme?Whendidyoufollow?Befrank.Tellme.’

           ‘It’squiteaccidental,’repliedMr.Winkle,greatlyperplexedbythecuriousandunexpectednatureoftheinterview.‘Quite.’

           ‘Gladofit,’saidDowler.‘Iwokethismorning.Ihadforgottenmythreat.Ilaughedattheaccident.Ifeltfriendly.Isaidso.’

           ‘Towhom?’inquiredMr.Winkle.

           ‘ToMrs.Dowler."Youmadeavow,"saidshe."Idid,"saidI."Itwasarashone,"saidshe."Itwas,"saidI."I’llapologise.Whereishe?"’

           ‘Who?’inquiredMr.Winkle.

           ‘You,’repliedDowler.‘Iwentdownstairs.Youwerenottobefound.Pickwicklookedgloomy.Shookhishead.Hopednoviolencewouldbecommitted.Isawitall.Youfeltyourselfinsulted.Youhadgone,forafriendperhaps.Possiblyforpistols."Highspirit,"saidI."Iadmirehim."’

           Mr.Winklecoughed,andbeginningtoseehowthelandlay,assumedalookofimportance.

           ‘Ileftanoteforyou,’resumedDowler.‘IsaidIwassorry.SoIwas.Pressingbusinesscalledmehere.Youwerenotsatisfied.Youfollowed.Yourequiredaverbalexplanation.Youwereright.It’sallovernow.Mybusinessisfinished.Igobackto-morrow.Joinme.’

           AsDowlerprogressedinhisexplanation,Mr.Winkle’scountenancegrewmoreandmoredignified.

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