'Mr.Winkle, take your hands off.
Mr.Pickwick, let me go, sir!' It was a beautiful sight, in that moment of turmoil and confusion, to behold the placid and philosophical expression of Mr.Pickwick's face, albeit somewhat flushed with exertion, as he stood with his arms firmly clasped round the extensive waist of their corpulent host, thus restraining the impetuosity of his passion, while the fat boy was scratched, and pulled, and pushed from the room by all the females congregated therein.

He had no sooner released his hold, than the man entered to announce that the gig was ready.
'Don't let him go alone!' screamed the females.

'He'll kill somebody!' 'I'll go with him,' said Mr.Pickwick.
'You're a good fellow, Pickwick,' said the host, grasping his hand.
'Emma, give Mr.Pickwick a shawl to tie round his neck--make haste.

Look after your grandmother, girls; she has fainted away.

Now then, are you ready ?' Mr.Pickwick's mouth and chin having been hastily enveloped in a large shawl, his hat having been put on his head, and his greatcoat thrown over his arm, he replied in the affirmative.
They jumped into the gig.