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oliver twist(雾都孤儿(孤星血泪))-第8部分

小说: oliver twist(雾都孤儿(孤星血泪)) 字数: 每页4000字

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well…known cane; “no; no; sir; I will be good indeed; indeed; 
indeed I will; sir! I am a very little boy; sir; and it is so—so—” 

“So what?” inquired Mr。 Bumble in amazement。 

“So lonely; sir! So very lonely!” cried the child。 “Everybody 
hates me。 Oh! sir; don’t; don’t pray be cross with me!” The child 
beat his hand upon his heart; and looked in his companion’s face; 
with tears of real agony。 

Mr。 Bumble regarded Oliver’s piteous and helpless look; with 
some astonishment; for a few seconds; hemmed three or four 
times in a husky manner; and; after muttering something about 
“that troublesome cough;” bade Oliver dry his eyes and be a good 
boy。 Then; once more taking his hand; he walked on with him in 
silence。 

The undertaker; who had just put up the shutters of his shop; 

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Oliver Twist 

was making some entries in his day…book by the light of a most 
appropriate dismal candle; when Mr。 Bumble entered。 

“Aha!” said the undertaker; looking up from the book and 
pausing in the middle of a word; “is that you; Bumble?” 

“No one else; Mr。 Sowerberry;” replied the beadle。 “Here! I’ve 
brought the boy。” Oliver made a bow。 

“Oh! that’s the boy; is it?” said the undertaker; raising the 
candle above his head; to get a better view of Oliver。 “Mrs。 
Sowerberry! will you have the goodness to come here a moment; 
my dear?” 

Mrs。 Sowerberry emerged from a little room behind the shop; 
and presented the form of a short; thin; squeezed…up woman; with 
a vixenish countenance。 

“My dear;” said Mr。 Sowerberry deferentially; “this is the boy 
from the workhouse that I told you of。” Oliver bowed again。 

“Dear me!” said the undertaker’s wife; “he’s very small。” 

“Why; he is rather small;” replied Mr。 Bumble; looking at Oliver 
as if it were his fault that he was no bigger; “he is small。 There’s no 
denying it。 But he’ll grow; Mrs。 Sowerberry—he’ll grow。” 

“Ah! I dare say he will;” replied the lady pettishly; “on our 
victuals and our drink。 I see no saving in parish children; not I; for 
they always cost more to keep; than they’re worth。 However; men 
always think they know best。 There! Get downstairs; little bag o’ 
bones。” With this; the undertaker’s wife opened a side door; and 
pushed Oliver down a steep flight of stairs into a stone cell; damp 
and dark; forming the ante…room to the coal…cellar; and 
denominated “kitchen”: wherein sat a slatternly girl; in shoes 
down at heel; and blue worsted stockings very much out of repair。 

“Here; Charlotte;” said Mrs。 Sowerberry; who had followed 

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Oliver Twist 

Oliver down; “give the boy some of the cold bits that were put by 
for Trip。 He hasn’t come home since the morning; so he may go 
without ’em。 I dare say the boy isn’t too dainty to eat ’em—are you; 
boy?” 

Oliver; whose eyes had glistened at the mention of meat; and 
who was trembling with eagerness to devour it; replied in the 
negative; and a plateful of coarse broken victuals was set before 
him。 

I wish some well…fed philosopher; whose meat and drink turn to 
gall within him; whose blood is ice; whose heart is iron; could have 
seen Oliver Twist clutching at the dainty viands that the dog had 
neglected。 I wish he could have witnessed the horrible avidity with 
which Oliver tore the bits asunder with all the ferocity of famine。 
There is only one thing I should like better; and that would be to 
see the philosopher making the same sort of meal himself; with the 
same relish。 

“Well;” said the undertaker’s wife; when Oliver had finished his 
supper; which she had regarded in silent horror; and with fearful 
auguries of his future appetite; “have you done?” 

There being nothing eatable within his reach; Oliver replied in 
the affirmative。 

“Then come with me;” said Mrs。 Sowerberry; taking up a dim 
and dirty lamp; and leading the way upstairs; “your bed’s under 
the counter。 You don’t mind sleeping among the coffins; I 
suppose? But it doesn’t much matter whether you do or don’t; for 
you can’t sleep anywhere else。 Come; don’t keep me here all 
night!” 

Oliver lingered no longer; but meekly followed his new 
mistress。 

Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics 


Oliver Twist 

Chapter 5 

Oliver Mingles With New Associates—Going To A
Funeral For The First Time; He Forms An
Unfavourable Notion Of His Master’s Business。


O liver; being left to himself in the undertaker’s shop; set the 
lamp down on a workman’s bench; and gazed timidly 
about him with a feeling of awe and dread; which many 
people a good deal older than he will be at no loss to understand。 
An unfinished coffin on black trestles; which stood in the middle of 
the shop; looked so gloomy and death…like that a cold tremble 
came over him; every time his eyes wandered in the direction of 
the dismal object; from which he almost expected to see some 
frightful form slowly rear its head; to drive him mad with terror。 
Against the wall were ranged; in regular array; a long row of elm 
boards cut into the same shape: looking in the dim light; like high…
shouldered ghosts with their hands in their breeches pockets。 
Coffin plates; elm chips; bright…headed nails; and shreds of black 
cloth; lay scattered on the floor; and the wall behind the counter 
was ornamented with a lively representation of two mutes in very 
stiff neckcloths; on duty at a large private door; with a hearse 
drawn by four black steeds; approaching in the distance。 The shop 
was close and hot; and the atmosphere seemed tainted with the 
smell of coffins。 The recess beneath the counter in which his flock 
mattress was thrust; looked like a grave。 

Nor were these the only dismal feelings which depressed 
Oliver。 He was alone in a strange place; and we all know how 

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Oliver Twist 

chilled and desolate the best of us will sometimes feel in such a 
situation。 The boy had no friends to care for; or to care for him。 
The regret of no recent separation was fresh in his mind; the 
absence of no loved and well…remembered face sank heavily into 
his heart。 But his heart was heavy; notwithstanding; and he 
wished; as he crept into his narrow bed; that that were his coffin; 
and that he could be lain in a calm and lasting sleep in the 
churchyard ground; with the tall grass waving gently above his 
head; and the sound of the old deep bell to soothe him in his sleep。 

Oliver was awakened in the morning by a loud kicking at the 
outside of the shop door; which; before he could huddle on his 
clothes; was repeated; in an angry and impetuous manner; about 
twenty…five times。 When he began to undo the chain; the legs 
desisted; and a voice began。 “Open the door; will yer?” cried the 
voice which belonged to the legs which had kicked at the door。 

“I will; directly; sir;” replied Oliver; undoing the chain and 
turning the key。 

“Yes; sir;’ replied Oliver。 

“How old are yer?’ inquired the voice。 

“Ten; sir;” replied Oliver。 

“Then I’ll whop yer when I get in;” said the voice; “you just see 
if I don’t; that’s all; my work’us brat!” and having made this 
obliging promise; the voice began to whistle。 

Oliver had been too often subjected to the process to which the 
very expressive monosyllable just recorded bears reference; to 
entertain the smallest doubt that the owner of the voice; whoever 
he might be; would redeem his pledge; most honourably。 He drew 
back the bolts with a trembling hand; and opened the door。 

For a second or two; Oliver glanced up the street; and down the 

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Oliver Twist 

street; and over the way; impressed with the belief that the 
unknown who had addressed him through the keyhole; had 
walked a few paces off; to warm himself; for nobody did he see but 
a big charity…boy; sitting on a post in front of the house; eating a 
slice of bread…and…butter; which he cut into wedges; the size of his 
mouth; with a clasp knife; and then consumed with great 
dexterity。 

“I beg your pardon; sir;” said Oliver; at length; seeing that no 
other visitor made his appearance; “did you knock?” 

“I kicked;” replied the charity…boy。 

“Did you want a coffin; sir?” inquired Oliver innocently。 

At this the charity…boy looked monstrous fierce; and said that 
Oliver would want one before long; if he cut jokes with his 
superiors in that way。 

“Yer don’t know who I am; I suppose; Work’us?” said the 
charity…boy; in continuation; descending from the top of the post; 
meanwhile; with edifying gravity。 

“No; sir;” rejoined Oliver。 

“I’m Mister Noah Claypole;” said the charity…boy; “and you’re 
under me。 Take down the shutters; yer idle young ruffian!” With 
this; Mr。 Claypole administered a kick to Oliver; and entered the 
shop with a dignified air; which did him great credit。 It is difficult 
for a large…headed; small…eyed youth; of lumbering make and 
heavy countenance; to look dignified under any circumstances; 
but it is more especially so; when superadded to these personal 
attractions are a red nose and yellow smalls。 

Oliver; having taken down the shutters; and broken a pane of 
glass in his efforts to stagger away beneath the weight; of the first 
one; to a small court at the side of the house in which they were 

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Oliver Twist 

kept during the day; was graciously assisted by Noah; who; having 
consoled him with the assurance that “he’d catch it;” 
condescended to help him。 Mr。 Sowerberry came down soon after。 
Shortly afterwards; Mrs。 Sowerberry appeared; and Oliver having 
“caught it;” in fulfilment of Noah’s prediction; followed that young 
gentleman down the stairs to breakfast。 

“Come near the fire; Noah;” said Charlotte。 “I saved a nice little 
bit of bacon for you from master’s breakfast。 Oliver; shut that door 
at Mister Noah’s back; and take them bits that I’ve put out on the 
cover of the bread…pan。 There’s your tea; take it away to that box 
and dr

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