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Chapter XI
Involving Another Journey, And An Antiquarian Discovery;
Recording Mr Pickwick's Determination To Be Present At An
Election; And Containing A Manuscript Of The Old Clergyman's
A night of quiet and repose in the profound silence of Dingley Dell,
and an hour's breathing of its fresh and fragrant air on the ensuing
morning, completely recovered Mr Pickwick from the effects of his late
fatigue of body and anxiety of mind. That illustrious man had been
separated from his friends and fol lowers for two whole days; and it
was with a degree of pleasure and delight, which no common
imagination can adequately conceive, that he stepped forward to greet
Mr Winkle and Mr Snodgrass, as he encountered those gentlemen on
his return from his early walk. The pleasure was mutual; for who
could ever gaze on Mr Pickwick's beaming face without experiencing
the sensation? But still a cloud seemed to hang over his companions
which that great man could not but be sensible of, and was wholly at
a loss to account for. There was a mysterious air about them both, as
unusual as it was alarming.
'
And how,' said Mr Pickwick, when he had grasped his followers by the
hand, and exchanged warm salutations of welcome - 'how is Tupman?'
Mr Winkle, to whom the question was more peculiarly addressed,
made no reply. He turned away his head, and appeared absorbed in
melancholy reflection.
'
Snodgrass,' said Mr Pickwick earnestly, 'how is our friend - he is not
ill?'
'
No,' replied Mr Snodgrass; and a tear trembled on his sentimental
eyelid, like a rain-drop on a window-frame-'no; he is not ill.'
Mr Pickwick stopped, and gazed on each of his friends in turn.
'
Winkle - Snodgrass,' said Mr Pickwick; 'what does this mean? Where
is our friend? What has happened? Speak - I conjure, I entreat - nay, I
command you, speak.'
There was a solemnity - a dignity - in Mr Pickwick's manner, not to be
withstood.
'He is gone,' said Mr Snodgrass.
'Gone!' exclaimed Mr Pickwick. 'Gone!'
'Gone,' repeated Mr Snodgrass.
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