Oliver Twist; or, The Parish Boy's Progress. IllustratedDickens, Charles
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Oliver Twist; or, The Parish Boy's Progress. Illustrated
Dickens, Charles
Bildungsromans; Boys -- Fiction; Criminals -- Fiction; Kidnapping victims -- Fiction; London (England) -- Fiction; Orphans -- Fiction
The boy was lying, fast asleep, on a rude bed upon the floor; so
pale with anxiety, and sadness, and the closeness of his prison,
that he looked like death; not death as it shows in shroud and
coffin, but in the guise it wears when life has just departed; when
a young and gentle spirit has, but an instant, fled to Heaven, and
the gross air of the world has not had time to breathe upon the
changing dust it hallowed.
‘Not now,’ said the Jew, turning softly away. ‘To-morrow.
To-morrow.’
CHAPTER XX -- WHEREIN OLIVER IS DELIVERED OVER TO MR. WILLIAM SIKES
When Oliver awoke in the morning, he was a good deal surprised to
find that a new pair of shoes, with strong thick soles, had been
placed at his bedside; and that his old shoes had been removed. At
first, he was pleased with the discovery: hoping that it might
be the forerunner of his release; but such thoughts were quickly
dispelled, on his sitting down to breakfast along with the Jew, who
told him, in a tone and manner which increased his alarm, that he
was to be taken to the residence of Bill Sikes that night.
‘To--to--stop there, sir?’ asked Oliver, anxiously.
‘No, no, my dear. Not to stop there,’ replied the Jew. ‘We shouldn’t
like to lose you. Don’t be afraid, Oliver, you shall come back to
us again. Ha! ha! ha! We won’t be so cruel as to send you away, my
dear. Oh no, no!’
The old man, who was stooping over the fire toasting a piece of
bread, looked round as he bantered Oliver thus; and chuckled as if
to show that he knew he would still be very glad to get away if he
could.
‘I suppose,’ said the Jew, fixing his eyes on Oliver, ‘you want to
know what you’re going to Bill’s for---eh, my dear?’
Oliver coloured, involuntarily, to find that the old thief had been
reading his thoughts; but boldly said, Yes, he did want to know.
‘Why, do you think?’ inquired Fagin, parrying the question.
‘Indeed I don’t know, sir,’ replied Oliver.
‘Bah!’ said the Jew, turning away with a disappointed countenance
from a close perusal of the boy’s face. ‘Wait till Bill tells you,
then.’
The Jew seemed much vexed by Oliver’s not expressing any greater
curiosity on the subject; but the truth is, that, although Oliver
felt very anxious, he was too much confused by the earnest cunning
of Fagin’s looks, and his own speculations, to make any further
inquiries just then. He had no other opportunity: for the Jew
remained very surly and silent till night: when he prepared to go
abroad.
‘You may burn a candle,’ said the Jew, putting one upon the table.
‘And here’s a book for you to read, till they come to fetch you.
Good-night!’
‘Good-night!’ replied Oliver, softly.
The Jew walked to the door: looking over his shoulder at the boy as
he went. Suddenly stopping, he called him by his name.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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