Oliver Twist
RELATES WHAT BECAME OF OLIVER TWIST, AFTER HE HAD BEEN CLAIMED BY NANCY
The narrow and courts, at length, in a large open space; about which, were for beasts, and other of a cattle-market. Sikes his when they this spot: the girl being unable to support any longer, the at which they had walked. Turning to Oliver, he him to take of Nancy’s hand.
“Do you hear?” Sikes, as Oliver hesitated, and looked round.
They were in a dark corner, out of the of passengers.
Oliver saw, but too plainly, that would be of no avail. He out his hand, which Nancy tight in hers.
“Give me the other,” said Sikes, Oliver’s hand. “Here, Bull’s-Eye!”
The dog looked up, and growled.
“See here, boy!” said Sikes, his other hand to Oliver’s throat; “if he speaks so soft a word, him! D’ye mind!”
The dog again; and his lips, Oliver as if he were to himself to his without delay.
“He’s as as a Christian, me if he isn’t!” said Sikes, the animal with a of and approval. “Now, you know what you’ve got to expect, master, so call away as quick as you like; the dog will soon stop that game. Get on, young’un!”
Bull’s-eye his in of this of speech; and, to another for the of Oliver, the way onward.
It was Smithfield that they were crossing, although it might have been Grosvenor Square, for anything Oliver to the contrary. The night was dark and foggy. The lights in the shops through the mist, which every moment and the and houses in gloom; the place still in Oliver’s eyes; and making his the more and depressing.
They had on a paces, when a church-bell the hour. With its stroke, his two stopped, and their in the direction the proceeded.
“Eight o’clock, Bill,” said Nancy, when the ceased.
“What’s the good of telling me that; I can it, can’t I!” Sikes.
“I wonder they can it,” said Nancy.
“Of they can,” Sikes. “It was Bartlemy time when I was shopped; and there warn’t a in the fair, as I couldn’t the on. Arter I was locked up for the night, the and the old so silent, that I almost have my out against the iron plates of the door.”
“Poor fellow!” said Nancy, who still had her the in which the had sounded. “Oh, Bill, such as them!”
“Yes; that’s all you think of,” answered Sikes. “Fine chaps! Well, they’re as good as dead, so it don’t much matter.”
With this consolation, Mr. Sikes appeared to a to jealousy, and, Oliver’s more firmly, told him to step out again.
“Wait a minute!” said the girl: “I wouldn’t by, if it was you that was out to be hung, the next time eight o’clock struck, Bill. I’d walk and the place till I dropped, if the was on the ground, and I hadn’t a to me.”
“And what good would that do?” the Mr. Sikes. “Unless you over a file and twenty yards of good rope, you might as well be walking fifty mile off, or not walking at all, for all the good it would do me. Come on, and don’t there.”
The girl into a laugh; her more closely her; and they walked away. But Oliver her hand tremble, and, looking up in her as they passed a gas-lamp, saw that it had a white.
They walked on, by little-frequented and dirty ways, for a full half-hour: meeting very people, and those appearing from their looks to much the same position in as Mr. Sikes himself. At length they into a very narrow street, nearly full of old-clothes shops; the dog forward, as if that there was no occasion for his on guard, stopped the door of a shop that was closed and untenanted; the house was in a condition, and on the door was a board, that it was to let: which looked as if it had there for many years.
“All right,” Sikes, about.
Nancy the shutters, and Oliver the of a bell. They to the opposite of the street, and for a moments under a lamp. A noise, as if a window were raised, was heard; and soon the door opened. Mr. Sikes then the boy by the with very little ceremony; and all three were the house.
The passage was perfectly dark. They waited, while the person who had let them in, and the door.
“Anybody here?” Sikes.
“No,” a voice, which Oliver he had before.
“Is the old ’un here?” asked the robber.
“Yes,” the voice, “and in the mouth he has been. Won’t he be to see you? Oh, no!”
The of this reply, as well as the voice which delivered it, familiar to Oliver’s ears: but it was to the of the in the darkness.
“Let’s have a glim,” said Sikes, “or we shall go our necks, or on the dog. Look after your if you do!”
“Stand still a moment, and I’ll you one,” the voice. The of the were heard; and, in another minute, the of Mr. John Dawkins, otherwise the Artful Dodger, appeared. He in his right hand a in the end of a stick.
The did not stop to any other mark of upon Oliver than a grin; but, away, the visitors to him a of stairs. They an empty kitchen; and, opening the door of a low earthy-smelling room, which to have been in a small back-yard, were with a of laughter.
“Oh, my wig, my wig!” Master Charles Bates, from the had proceeded: “here he is! oh, cry, here he is! Oh, Fagin, look at him! Fagin, do look at him! I can’t it; it is such a game, I can’t it. Hold me, somebody, while I laugh it out.”
With this of mirth, Master Bates himself on the floor: and for five minutes, in an of joy. Then jumping to his feet, he the from the Dodger; and, to Oliver, viewed him and round; while the Jew, taking off his nightcap, a great number of low to the boy. The Artful, meantime, who was of a disposition, and gave way to when it with business, Oliver’s pockets with assiduity.
“Look at his togs, Fagin!” said Charley, the light so close to his new jacket as nearly to set him on fire. “Look at his togs! Superfine cloth, and the cut! Oh, my eye, what a game! And his books, too! Nothing but a gentleman, Fagin!”
“Delighted to see you looking so well, my dear,” said the Jew, with humility. “The Artful shall give you another suit, my dear, for you should that Sunday one. Why didn’t you write, my dear, and say you were coming? We’d have got something warm for supper.”
At his, Master Bates again: so loud, that Fagin himself relaxed, and the Dodger smiled; but as the Artful the five-pound note at that instant, it is the of the his merriment.
“Hallo, what’s that?” Sikes, as the Jew the note. “That’s mine, Fagin.”
“No, no, my dear,” said the Jew. “Mine, Bill, mine. You shall have the books.”
“If that ain’t mine!” said Bill Sikes, on his with a air; “mine and Nancy’s that is; I’ll take the boy again.”
The Jew started. Oliver started too, though from a very different cause; for he that the might end in his being taken back.
“Come! Hand over, will you?” said Sikes.
“This is fair, Bill; fair, is it, Nancy?” the Jew.
“Fair, or not fair,” Sikes, “hand over, I tell you! Do you think Nancy and me has got nothing else to do with our time but to it in arter, and kidnapping, every boy as through you? Give it here, you old skeleton, give it here!”
With this remonstrance, Mr. Sikes the note from the Jew’s and thumb; and looking the old man in the face, it up small, and it in his neckerchief.
“That’s for our of the trouble,” said Sikes; “and not enough, neither. You may keep the books, if you’re of reading. If you ain’t, sell ’em.”
“They’re very pretty,” said Charley Bates: who, with grimaces, had been to read one of the in question; “beautiful writing, isn’t is, Oliver?” At of the look with which Oliver his tormentors, Master Bates, who was with a of the ludicrous, into another ectasy, more than the first.
“They to the old gentleman,” said Oliver, his hands; “to the good, kind, old who took me into his house, and had me nursed, when I was near of the fever. Oh, pray send them back; send him the books and money. Keep me here all my life long; but pray, pray send them back. He’ll think I them; the old lady: all of them who were so to me: will think I them. Oh, do have upon me, and send them back!”
With these words, which were with all the energy of grief, Oliver upon his at the Jew’s feet; and his hands together, in perfect desperation.
“The boy’s right,” Fagin, looking round, and his into a hard knot. “You’re right, Oliver, you’re right; they will think you have ’em. Ha! ha!” the Jew, his hands, “it couldn’t have better, if we had our time!”
“Of it couldn’t,” Sikes; “I know’d that, directly I see him through Clerkenwell, with the books under his arm. It’s all right enough. They’re soft-hearted psalm-singers, or they wouldn’t have taken him in at all; and they’ll ask no questions after him, they should be to prosecute, and so him lagged. He’s safe enough.”
Oliver had looked from one to the other, while these were being spoken, as if he were bewildered, and what passed; but when Bill Sikes concluded, he jumped to his feet, and from the room: for help, which the old house echo to the roof.
“Keep the dog, Bill!” Nancy, the door, and it, as the Jew and his two out in pursuit. “Keep the dog; he’ll tear the boy to pieces.”
“Serve him right!” Sikes, to himself from the girl’s grasp. “Stand off from me, or I’ll your against the wall.”
“I don’t for that, Bill, I don’t for that,” the girl, with the man, “the child shan’t be by the dog, unless you kill me first.”
“Shan’t he!” said Sikes, setting his teeth. “I’ll soon do that, if you don’t keep off.”
The the girl from him to the end of the room, just as the Jew and the two boys returned, Oliver among them.
“What’s the here!” said Fagin, looking round.
“The girl’s gone mad, I think,” Sikes, savagely.
“No, she hasn’t,” said Nancy, and from the scuffle; “no, she hasn’t, Fagin; don’t think it.”
“Then keep quiet, will you?” said the Jew, with a look.
“No, I won’t do that, neither,” Nancy, speaking very loud. “Come! What do you think of that?”
Mr. Fagin was well with the manners and of that particular of to which Nancy belonged, to that it would be to any with her, at present. With the view of the attention of the company, he to Oliver.
“So you wanted to away, my dear, did you?” said the Jew, taking up a and which in a of the fireplace; “eh?”
Oliver no reply. But he the Jew’s motions, and quickly.
“Wanted to assistance; called for the police; did you?” the Jew, the boy by the arm. “We’ll you of that, my master.”
The Jew a on Oliver’s with the club; and was it for a second, when the girl, forward, it from his hand. She it into the fire, with a that some of the out into the room.
“I won’t by and see it done, Fagin,” the girl. “You’ve got the boy, and what more would you have?—Let him be—let him be—or I shall put that mark on some of you, that will me to the my time.”
The girl her on the as she this threat; and with her compressed, and her hands clenched, looked alternately at the Jew and the other robber: her from the of into which she had herself.
“Why, Nancy!” said the Jew, in a tone; after a pause, which he and Mr. Sikes had at one another in a manner; “you,—you’re more than to-night. Ha! ha! my dear, you are acting beautifully.”
“Am I!” said the girl. “Take I don’t it. You will be the for it, Fagin, if I do; and so I tell you in good time to keep clear of me.”
There is something about a woman: if she add to all her other passions, the of and despair; which men like to provoke. The Jew saw that it would be to affect any mistake the of Miss Nancy’s rage; and, a paces, a glance, and cowardly, at Sikes: as if to hint that he was the person to the dialogue.
Mr. Sikes, thus to; and possibly his personal and in the of Miss Nancy to reason; gave to about a of score of and threats, the production of which great on the of his invention. As they produced no visible on the object against they were discharged, however, he to more arguments.
“What do you by this?” said Sikes; the with a very common the most of features: which, if it were above, only once out of every fifty thousand times that it is below, would as common a as measles: “what do you by it? Burn my body! Do you know who you are, and what you are?”
“Oh, yes, I know all about it,” the girl, laughing hysterically; and her from to side, with a of indifference.
“Well, then, keep quiet,” Sikes, with a like that he was to use when his dog, “or I’ll you for a good long time to come.”
The girl laughed again: less than before; and, a look at Sikes, her aside, and her lip till the blood came.
“You’re a one,” added Sikes, as he her with a air, “to take up the and gen—teel side! A for the child, as you call him, to make a friend of!”
“God Almighty help me, I am!” the girl passionately; “and I wish I had been in the street, or had places with them we passed so near to-night, I had a hand in him here. He’s a thief, a liar, a devil, all that’s bad, from this night forth. Isn’t that for the old wretch, without blows?”
“Come, come, Sikes,” said the Jew to him in a tone, and the boys, who were to all that passed; “we must have words; words, Bill.”
“Civil words!” the girl, was to see. “Civil words, you villain! Yes, you ’em from me. I for you when I was a child not as old as this!” pointing to Oliver. “I have been in the same trade, and in the same service, for twelve years since. Don’t you know it? Speak out! Don’t you know it?”
“Well, well,” the Jew, with an attempt at pacification; “and, if you have, it’s your living!”
“Aye, it is!” returned the girl; not speaking, but out the in one and scream. “It is my living; and the cold, wet, dirty are my home; and you’re the that me to them long ago, and that’ll keep me there, day and night, day and night, till I die!”
“I shall do you a mischief!” the Jew, by these reproaches; “a than that, if you say much more!”
The girl said nothing more; but, her and dress in a transport of passion, such a at the Jew as would have left marks of her upon him, had not her been by Sikes at the right moment; upon which, she a struggles, and fainted.
“She’s all right now,” said Sikes, her in a corner. “She’s in the arms, when she’s up in this way.”
The Jew his forehead: and smiled, as if it were a to have the over; but neither he, Sikes, the dog, the boys, to it in any other light than a common to business.
“It’s the of having to do with women,” said the Jew, his club; “but they’re clever, and we can’t on, in our line, without ’em. Charley, Oliver to bed.”
“I he’d not wear his best tomorrow, Fagin, had he?” Charley Bates.
“Certainly not,” the Jew, the with which Charley put the question.
Master Bates, much with his commission, took the stick: and Oliver into an kitchen, where there were two or three of the on which he had slept before; and here, with many of laughter, he produced the old of which Oliver had so much himself upon off at Mr. Brownlow’s; and the of which, to Fagin, by the Jew who purchased them, had been the very received, of his whereabout.
“Put off the ones,” said Charley, “and I’ll give ’em to Fagin to take of. What fun it is!”
Poor Oliver complied. Master Bates up the new under his arm, from the room, Oliver in the dark, and locking the door him.
The noise of Charley’s laughter, and the voice of Miss Betsy, who to water over her friend, and perform other offices for the promotion of her recovery, might have many people under more happy than those in which Oliver was placed. But he was and weary; and he soon asleep.
