Sketches by Boz, Illustrative of Every-Day Life and Every-Day PeopleDickens, Charles
General
Sketches by Boz, Illustrative of Every-Day Life and Every-Day People
Dickens, Charles
London (England) -- Social life and customs -- 19th century; London (England) -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
The girl started up, with an energy quite preternatural; the fire
gleamed in her heavy eyes, and the blood rushed to her pale and sunken
cheeks. It was a convulsive effort. She fell back upon her pillow, and
covering her scarred and bruised face with her hands, burst into tears.
The man cast an anxious look towards her, but otherwise appeared wholly
unmoved. After a brief pause the nature of the errand was explained,
and the oath tendered.
‘Oh, no, gentlemen,’ said the girl, raising herself once more, and
folding her hands together; ‘no, gentlemen, for God’s sake! I did it
myself—it was nobody’s fault—it was an accident. He didn’t hurt me; he
wouldn’t for all the world. Jack, dear Jack, you know you wouldn’t!’
Her sight was fast failing her, and her hand groped over the bedclothes
in search of his. Brute as the man was, he was not prepared for this.
He turned his face from the bed, and sobbed. The girl’s colour changed,
and her breathing grew more difficult. She was evidently dying.
‘We respect the feelings which prompt you to this,’ said the gentleman
who had spoken first, ‘but let me warn you, not to persist in what you
know to be untrue, until it is too late. It cannot save him.’
‘Jack,’ murmured the girl, laying her hand upon his arm, ‘they shall
not persuade me to swear your life away. He didn’t do it, gentlemen. He
never hurt me.’ She grasped his arm tightly, and added, in a broken
whisper, ‘I hope God Almighty will forgive me all the wrong I have
done, and the life I have led. God bless you, Jack. Some kind gentleman
take my love to my poor old father. Five years ago, he said he wished I
had died a child. Oh, I wish I had! I wish I had!’
The nurse bent over the girl for a few seconds, and then drew the sheet
over her face. It covered a corpse.
CHAPTER VII—THE MISPLACED ATTACHMENT OF MR. JOHN DOUNCE
If we had to make a classification of society, there is a particular
kind of men whom we should immediately set down under the head of ‘Old
Boys;’ and a column of most extensive dimensions the old boys would
require. To what precise causes the rapid advance of old-boy population
is to be traced, we are unable to determine. It would be an interesting
and curious speculation, but, as we have not sufficient space to devote
to it here, we simply state the fact that the numbers of the old boys
have been gradually augmenting within the last few years, and that they
are at this moment alarmingly on the increase.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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