Посмертні записки Піквікського клубу

What befell Mr. Pickwick when he got into the Fleet; what Prisoners he saw there; and how he passed

           Andinafourth,andafifth,andasixth,andaseventh,thenoise,andthebeer,andthetobaccosmoke,andthecards,allcameoveragainingreaterforcethanbefore.

           Inthegalleriesthemselves,andmoreespeciallyonthestair-cases,therelingeredagreatnumberofpeople,whocamethere,somebecausetheirroomswereemptyandlonesome,othersbecausetheirroomswerefullandhot;thegreaterpartbecausetheywererestlessanduncomfortable,andnotpossessedofthesecretofexactlyknowingwhattodowiththemselves.Thereweremanyclassesofpeoplehere,fromthelabouringmaninhisfustianjacket,tothebroken-downspendthriftinhisshawldressing-gown,mostappropriatelyoutatelbows;buttherewasthesameairaboutthemallakindoflistless,jail-bird,carelessswagger,avagabondishwho’s-afraidsortofbearing,whichiswhollyindescribableinwords,butwhichanymancanunderstandinonemomentifhewish,bysettingfootinthenearestdebtors’prison,andlookingattheveryfirstgroupofpeopleheseesthere,withthesameinterestasMr.Pickwickdid.

           ‘Itstrikesme,Sam,’saidMr.Pickwick,leaningovertheironrailatthestair-head–‘itstrikesme,Sam,thatimprisonmentfordebtisscarcelyanypunishmentatall.’

           ‘Thinknot,sir?’inquiredMr.Weller.

           ‘Youseehowthesefellowsdrink,andsmoke,androar,’repliedMr.Pickwick.‘It’squiteimpossiblethattheycanminditmuch.

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Roboto Lora
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