oliver twist(雾都孤儿(孤星血泪))-第8部分
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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。
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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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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