Bildungsromans; Boys -- Fiction; Criminals -- Fiction; Kidnapping victims -- Fiction; London (England) -- Fiction; Orphans -- Fiction
They walked on, for some time, through the most crowded and densely
inhabited part of the town; and then, striking down a narrow street
more dirty and miserable than any they had yet passed through, paused
to look for the house which was the object of their search. The houses
on either side were high and large, but very old, and tenanted by
people of the poorest class: as their neglected appearance would have
sufficiently denoted, without the concurrent testimony afforded by the
squalid looks of the few men and women who, with folded arms and bodies
half doubled, occasionally skulked along. A great many of the tenements
had shop-fronts; but these were fast closed, and mouldering away; only
the upper rooms being inhabited. Some houses which had become insecure
from age and decay, were prevented from falling into the street, by
huge beams of wood reared against the walls, and firmly planted in the
road; but even these crazy dens seemed to have been selected as the
nightly haunts of some houseless wretches, for many of the rough boards
which supplied the place of door and window, were wrenched from their
positions, to afford an aperture wide enough for the passage of a human
body. The kennel was stagnant and filthy. The very rats, which here and
there lay putrefying in its rottenness, were hideous with famine.
There was neither knocker nor bell-handle at the open door where Oliver
and his master stopped; so, groping his way cautiously through the dark
passage, and bidding Oliver keep close to him and not be afraid, the
undertaker mounted to the top of the first flight of stairs. Stumbling
against a door on the landing, he rapped at it with his knuckles.
It was opened by a young girl of thirteen or fourteen. The undertaker
at once saw enough of what the room contained, to know it was the
apartment to which he had been directed. He stepped in; Oliver followed
him.
There was no fire in the room; but a man was crouching, mechanically,
over the empty stove. An old woman, too, had drawn a low stool to the
cold hearth, and was sitting beside him. There were some ragged
children in another corner; and in a small recess, opposite the door,
there lay upon the ground, something covered with an old blanket.
Oliver shuddered as he cast his eyes toward the place, and crept
involuntarily closer to his master; for though it was covered up, the
boy felt that it was a corpse.
The man’s face was thin and very pale; his hair and beard were grizzly;
his eyes were bloodshot. The old woman’s face was wrinkled; her two
remaining teeth protruded over her under lip; and her eyes were bright
and piercing. Oliver was afraid to look at either her or the man. They
seemed so like the rats he had seen outside.
“Nobody shall go near her,” said the man, starting fiercely up, as the
undertaker approached the recess. “Keep back! Damn you, keep back, if
you’ve a life to lose!”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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