Oliver Twist; or, The Parish Boy's Progress. IllustratedDickens, Charles
General
Oliver Twist; or, The Parish Boy's Progress. Illustrated
Dickens, Charles
Bildungsromans; Boys -- Fiction; Criminals -- Fiction; Kidnapping victims -- Fiction; London (England) -- Fiction; Orphans -- Fiction
They were both wrapped in old and shabby outer garments, which
might, perhaps, serve the double purpose of protecting their persons
from the rain, and sheltering them from observation. The husband
carried a lantern, from which, however, no light yet shone; and
trudged on, a few paces in front, as though--the way being dirty--to
give his wife the benefit of treading in his heavy footprints. They
went on, in profound silence; every now and then, Mr. Bumble relaxed
his pace, and turned his head as if to make sure that his helpmate
was following; then, discovering that she was close at his heels,
he mended his rate of walking, and proceeded, at a considerable
increase of speed, towards their place of destination.
This was far from being a place of doubtful character; for it had
long been known as the residence of none but low ruffians, who,
under various pretences of living by their labour, subsisted chiefly
on plunder and crime. It was a collection of mere hovels: some,
hastily built with loose bricks: others, of old worm-eaten
ship-timber: jumbled together without any attempt at order or
arrangement, and planted, for the most part, within a few feet of
the river’s bank. A few leaky boats drawn up on the mud, and made
fast to the dwarf wall which skirted it: and here and there an
oar or coil of rope: appeared, at first, to indicate that the
inhabitants of these miserable cottages pursued some avocation on
the river; but a glance at the shattered and useless condition of
the articles thus displayed, would have led a passer-by, without
much difficulty, to the conjecture that they were disposed there,
rather for the preservation of appearances, than with any view to
their being actually employed.
In the heart of this cluster of huts; and skirting the river, which
its upper stories overhung; stood a large building, formerly used as
a manufactory of some kind. It had, in its day, probably furnished
employment to the inhabitants of the surrounding tenements. But it
had long since gone to ruin. The rat, the worm, and the action of
the damp, had weakened and rotted the piles on which it stood; and a
considerable portion of the building had already sunk down into
the water; while the remainder, tottering and bending over the dark
stream, seemed to wait a favourable opportunity of following its old
companion, and involving itself in the same fate.
It was before this ruinous building that the worthy couple paused,
as the first peal of distant thunder reverberated in the air, and
the rain commenced pouring violently down.
‘The place should be somewhere here,’ said Bumble, consulting a
scrap of paper he held in his hand.
‘Halloa there!’ cried a voice from above.
Following the sound, Mr. Bumble raised his head and descried a man
looking out of a door, breast-high, on the second story.
‘Stand still, a minute,’ cried the voice; ‘I’ll be with you
directly.’ With which the head disappeared, and the door closed.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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