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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба
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- Стр. 172/859
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It
was
a
late
hour
of
the
night
—
long
after
Mr
.
Tupman
and
Mr
.
Snodgrass
had
fallen
asleep
in
the
inmost
recesses
of
the
Peacock
—
when
the
two
friends
retired
to
rest
.
Slumber
soon
fell
upon
the
senses
of
Mr
.
Winkle
,
but
his
feelings
had
been
excited
,
and
his
admiration
roused
;
and
for
many
hours
after
sleep
had
rendered
him
insensible
to
earthly
objects
,
the
face
and
figure
of
the
agreeable
Mrs
.
Pott
presented
themselves
again
and
again
to
his
wandering
imagination
.
The
noise
and
bustle
which
ushered
in
the
morning
were
sufficient
to
dispel
from
the
mind
of
the
most
romantic
visionary
in
existence
,
any
associations
but
those
which
were
immediately
connected
with
the
rapidly
-
approaching
election
.
The
beating
of
drums
,
the
blowing
of
horns
and
trumpets
,
the
shouting
of
men
,
and
tramping
of
horses
,
echoed
and
re
—
echoed
through
the
streets
from
the
earliest
dawn
of
day
;
and
an
occasional
fight
between
the
light
skirmishers
of
either
party
at
once
enlivened
the
preparations
,
and
agreeably
diversified
their
character
.
‘
Well
,
Sam
,
’
said
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
as
his
valet
appeared
at
his
bedroom
door
,
just
as
he
was
concluding
his
toilet
;
‘
all
alive
to
-
day
,
I
suppose
?
’
‘
Reg
’
lar
game
,
sir
,
’
replied
Mr
.
Weller
;
‘
our
people
’
s
a
-
collecting
down
at
the
Town
Arms
,
and
they
’
re
a
-
hollering
themselves
hoarse
already
.
’
‘
Ah
,
’
said
Mr
.
Pickwick
,
‘
do
they
seem
devoted
to
their
party
,
Sam
?
’
‘
Never
see
such
dewotion
in
my
life
,
Sir
.
’
‘
Energetic
,
eh
?
’
said
Mr
.
Pickwick
.
‘
Uncommon
,
’
replied
Sam
;
‘
I
never
see
men
eat
and
drink
so
much
afore
.
I
wonder
they
ain
’
t
afeer
’
d
o
’
bustin
’
.
’
‘
That
’
s
the
mistaken
kindness
of
the
gentry
here
,
’
said
Mr
.
Pickwick
.
‘
Wery
likely
,
’
replied
Sam
briefly
.
