The Pickwick Papers. Чарльз Диккенс

said the widow, “let me see it.”

      ‘“I will,” replied Tom Smart; and, with these words, he placed the letter in the widow’s hand.

      ‘Gentlemen, I have heard my uncle say, that Tom Smart said the widow’s lamentations when she heard the disclosure would have pierced a heart of stone. Tom was certainly very tender-hearted, but they pierced his, to the very core. The widow rocked herself to and fro, and wrung her hands.

      ‘“Oh, the deception and villainy of the man!” said the widow.

      ‘“Frightful, my dear ma’am; but compose yourself,” said Tom Smart.

      ‘“Oh, I can’t compose myself,” shrieked the widow. “I shall never find anyone else I can love so much!”

      ‘“Oh, yes you will, my dear soul,” said Tom Smart, letting fall a shower of the largest-sized tears, in pity for the widow’s misfortunes. Tom Smart, in the energy of his compassion, had put his arm round the widow’s waist; and the widow, in a passion of grief, had clasped Tom’s hand. She looked up in Tom’s face, and smiled through her tears. Tom looked down in hers, and smiled through his.

      ‘I never could find out, gentlemen, whether Tom did or did not kiss the widow at that particular moment. He used to tell my uncle he didn’t, but I have my doubts about it. Between ourselves, gentlemen, I rather think he did.

      ‘At all events, Tom kicked the very tall man out at the front door half an hour later, and married the widow a month after. And he used to drive about the country, with the clay-coloured gig with the red wheels, and the vixenish mare with the fast pace, till he gave up business many years afterwards, and went to France with his wife; and then the old house was pulled down.’

      ‘Will you allow me to ask you,’ said the inquisitive old gentleman, ‘what became of the chair?’