Cruikshank, George, 1792-1878; Illustration of books -- Great Britain -- 19th century; Watercolor painting, British
‘I’m not well. I told you that before,’ rejoined the girl. ‘I want a
breath of air.’
‘Put your head out of the winder,’ replied Sikes.
‘There’s not enough there,’ said the girl. ‘I want it in the
street.’
‘Then you won’t have it,’ replied Sikes. With which assurance he
rose, locked the door, took the key out, and pulling her bonnet from
her head, flung it up to the top of an old press. ‘There,’ said the
robber. ‘Now stop quietly where you are, will you?’
‘It’s not such a matter as a bonnet would keep me,’ said the girl
turning very pale. ‘What do you mean, Bill? Do you know what you’re
doing?’
‘Know what I’m--Oh!’ cried Sikes, turning to Fagin, ‘she’s out of
her senses, you know, or she daren’t talk to me in that way.’
‘You’ll drive me on the something desperate,’ muttered the girl
placing both hands upon her breast, as though to keep down by force
some violent outbreak. ‘Let me go, will you,--this minute--this
instant.’
‘No!’ said Sikes.
‘Tell him to let me go, Fagin. He had better. It’ll be better for
him. Do you hear me?’ cried Nancy stamping her foot upon the ground.
‘Hear you!’ repeated Sikes turning round in his chair to confront
her. ‘Aye! And if I hear you for half a minute longer, the dog shall
have such a grip on your throat as’ll tear some of that screaming
voice out. Wot has come over you, you jade! Wot is it?’
‘Let me go,’ said the girl with great earnestness; then sitting
herself down on the floor, before the door, she said, ‘Bill, let me
go; you don’t know what you are doing. You don’t, indeed. For only
one hour--do--do!’
‘Cut my limbs off one by one!’ cried Sikes, seizing her roughly by
the arm, ‘If I don’t think the gal’s stark raving mad. Get up.’
‘Not till you let me go--not till you let me go--Never--never!’
screamed the girl. Sikes looked on, for a minute, watching
his opportunity, and suddenly pinioning her hands dragged her,
struggling and wrestling with him by the way, into a small room
adjoining, where he sat himself on a bench, and thrusting her into
a chair, held her down by force. She struggled and implored by turns
until twelve o’clock had struck, and then, wearied and exhausted,
ceased to contest the point any further. With a caution, backed by
many oaths, to make no more efforts to go out that night, Sikes left
her to recover at leisure and rejoined Fagin.
‘Whew!’ said the housebreaker wiping the perspiration from his face.
‘Wot a precious strange gal that is!’
‘You may say that, Bill,’ replied Fagin thoughtfully. ‘You may say
that.’
‘Wot did she take it into her head to go out to-night for, do you
think?’ asked Sikes. ‘Come; you should know her better than me. Wot
does it mean?’
‘Obstinacy; woman’s obstinacy, I suppose, my dear.’
‘Well, I suppose it is,’ growled Sikes. ‘I thought I had tamed her,
but she’s as bad as ever.’
‘Worse,’ said Fagin thoughtfully. ‘I never knew her like this, for
such a little cause.’
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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