Oliver Twist
THE EXPEDITION
It was a when they got into the street; and hard; and the clouds looking and stormy. The night had been very wet: large of water had in the road: and the were overflowing. There was a of the day in the sky; but it than the of the scene: the light only to that which the afforded, without any or upon the wet house-tops, and streets. There appeared to be nobody in that of the town; the of the houses were all closely shut; and the through which they passed, were noiseless and empty.
By the time they had into the Bethnal Green Road, the day had to break. Many of the were already extinguished; a country were slowly on, London; now and then, a stage-coach, with mud, by: the driver bestowing, as he passed, an upon the who, by on the of the road, had his at the office, a of a minute after his time. The public-houses, with gas-lights inside, were already open. By degrees, other shops to be unclosed, and a people were met with. Then, came groups of going to their work; then, men and with fish-baskets on their heads; donkey-carts with vegetables; chaise-carts with live-stock or whole of meat; milk-women with pails; an of people, out with to the of the town. As they approached the City, the noise and traffic increased; when they the Shoreditch and Smithfield, it had into a of and bustle. It was as light as it was likely to be, till night came on again, and the of the London population had begun.
Turning Sun Street and Crown Street, and Finsbury square, Mr. Sikes struck, by way of Chiswell Street, into Barbican: into Long Lane, and so into Smithfield; from which place a of that Oliver Twist with amazement.
It was market-morning. The ground was covered, nearly ankle-deep, with and mire; a thick steam, from the of the cattle, and with the fog, which to upon the chimney-tops, above. All the in the centre of the large area, and as many temporary as be into the space, were with sheep; up to by the were long lines of and oxen, three or four deep. Countrymen, butchers, drovers, hawkers, boys, thieves, idlers, and of every low grade, were together in a mass; the of drovers, the barking dogs, the and of the oxen, the of sheep, the and of pigs, the of hawkers, the shouts, oaths, and on all sides; the of and of voices, that from every public-house; the crowding, pushing, driving, beating, and yelling; the and that from every of the market; and the unwashed, unshaven, squalid, and dirty to and fro, and in and out of the throng; it a and scene, which the senses.
Mr. Sikes, Oliver after him, his way through the of the crowd, and very little attention on the and sounds, which so the boy. He nodded, twice or thrice, to a friend; and, as many to take a dram, pressed onward, until they were clear of the turmoil, and had their way through Hosier Lane into Holborn.
“Now, ’un!” said Sikes, looking up at the clock of St. Andrew’s Church, “hard upon seven! you must step out. Come, don’t already, Lazy-legs!”
Mr. Sikes this speech with a at his little companion’s wrist; Oliver, his into a of a fast walk and a run, up with the of the house-breaker as well as he could.
They their at this rate, until they had passed Hyde Park corner, and were on their way to Kensington: when Sikes his pace, until an empty which was at some little behind, came up. Seeing “Hounslow” on it, he asked the driver with as much as he assume, if he would give them a as as Isleworth.
“Jump up,” said the man. “Is that your boy?”
“Yes; he’s my boy,” Sikes, looking hard at Oliver, and his hand into the pocket where the pistol was.
“Your father walks too quick for you, don’t he, my man?” the driver: that Oliver was out of breath.
“Not a of it,” Sikes, interposing. “He’s used to it. Here, take of my hand, Ned. In with you!”
Thus Oliver, he helped him into the cart; and the driver, pointing to a of sacks, told him to there, and himself.
As they passed the different mile-stones, Oliver wondered, more and more, where his meant to take him. Kensington, Hammersmith, Chiswick, Kew Bridge, Brentford, were all passed; and yet they on as as if they had only just their journey. At length, they came to a public-house called the Coach and Horses; a little way which, another road appeared to off. And here, the stopped.
Sikes with great precipitation, Oliver by the hand all the while; and him directly, a look upon him, and the side-pocket with his fist, in a manner.
“Good-bye, boy,” said the man.
“He’s sulky,” Sikes, him a shake; “he’s sulky. A dog! Don’t mind him.”
“Not I!” the other, into his cart. “It’s a day, after all.” And he away.
Sikes waited until he had gone; and then, telling Oliver he might look about him if he wanted, once again him on his journey.
They to the left, a way past the public-house; and then, taking a right-hand road, walked on for a long time: many large gardens and gentlemen’s houses on of the way, and stopping for nothing but a little beer, until they a town. Here against the of a house, Oliver saw up in large letters, “Hampton.” They about, in the fields, for some hours. At length they came into the town; and, into an old public-house with a sign-board, ordered some dinner by the fire.
The was an old, low-roofed room; with a great across the middle of the ceiling, and benches, with high to them, by the fire; on which were seated men in smock-frocks, and smoking. They took no notice of Oliver; and very little of Sikes; and, as Sikes took very little notice of them, he and his sat in a by themselves, without being much by their company.
They had some cold meat for dinner, and sat so long after it, while Mr. Sikes himself with three or four pipes, that Oliver to they were not going any further. Being much with the walk, and up so early, he a little at first; then, by and the of the tobacco, asleep.
It was dark when he was by a push from Sikes. Rousing himself to up and look about him, he that in close and with a man, over a of ale.
“So, you’re going on to Lower Halliford, are you?” Sikes.
“Yes, I am,” the man, who a little the worse—or better, as the case might be—for drinking; “and not slow about it neither. My hasn’t got a him going back, as he had up in the mornin’; and he won’t be long a-doing of it. Here’s luck to him. Ecod! he’s a good ’un!”
“Could you give my boy and me a as as there?” Sikes, pushing the his new friend.
“If you’re going directly, I can,” the man, looking out of the pot. “Are you going to Halliford?”
“Going on to Shepperton,” Sikes.
“I’m your man, as as I go,” the other. “Is all paid, Becky?”
“Yes, the other gentleman’s paid,” the girl.
“I say!” said the man, with gravity; “that won’t do, you know.”
“Why not?” Sikes. “You’re a-going to us, and wot’s to prevent my for a or so, in return?”
The upon this argument, with a very face; having done so, he Sikes by the hand: and he was a good fellow. To which Mr. Sikes replied, he was joking; as, if he had been sober, there would have been to he was.
After the of a more compliments, they the company good-night, and out; the girl up the and as they did so, and out to the door, with her hands full, to see the party start.
The horse, health had been in his absence, was outside: to the cart. Oliver and Sikes got in without any ceremony; and the man to he belonged, having for a minute or two “to him up,” and to the and the world to produce his equal, also. Then, the was told to give the his head; and, his being him, he a very use of it: it into the air with great disdain, and into the over the way; after those feats, and supporting himself for a time on his hind-legs, he started off at great speed, and out of the town right gallantly.
The night was very dark. A rose from the river, and the ground about; and spread itself over the fields. It was cold, too; all was and black. Not a word was spoken; for the driver had sleepy; and Sikes was in no mood to lead him into conversation. Oliver sat together, in a of the cart; with and apprehension; and objects in the trees, to and fro, as if in some at the of the scene.
As they passed Sunbury Church, the clock seven. There was a light in the ferry-house window opposite: which across the road, and into more a dark yew-tree with it. There was a of water not off; and the of the old tree in the night wind. It like music for the of the dead.
Sunbury was passed through, and they came again into the road. Two or three miles more, and the stopped. Sikes alighted, took Oliver by the hand, and they once again walked on.
They into no house at Shepperton, as the boy had expected; but still walking on, in and darkness, through and over cold open wastes, until they came of the lights of a town at no great distance. On looking forward, Oliver saw that the water was just them, and that they were to the of a bridge.
Sikes on, until they were close upon the bridge; then a bank upon the left.
“The water!” Oliver, with fear. “He has me to this place to me!”
He was about to himself on the ground, and make one for his life, when he saw that they a house: all and decayed. There was a window on each of the entrance; and one above; but no light was visible. The house was dark, dismantled: and the all appearance, uninhabited.
Sikes, with Oliver’s hand still in his, approached the low porch, and the latch. The door to the pressure, and they passed in together.
