-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Чарльз Диккенс
-
- Оливер Твист
-
- Стр. 185/420
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
'
Bill
had
him
on
his
back
,
and
scudded
like
the
wind
.
We
stopped
to
take
him
between
us
;
his
head
hung
down
,
and
he
was
cold
.
They
were
close
upon
our
heels
;
every
man
for
himself
,
and
each
from
the
gallows
!
We
parted
company
,
and
left
the
youngster
lying
in
a
ditch
.
Alive
or
dead
,
that
's
all
I
know
about
him
.
'
The
Jew
stopped
to
hear
no
more
;
but
uttering
a
loud
yell
,
and
twining
his
hands
in
his
hair
,
rushed
from
the
room
,
and
from
the
house
.
The
old
man
had
gained
the
street
corner
,
before
he
began
to
recover
the
effect
of
Toby
Crackit
's
intelligence
.
He
had
relaxed
nothing
of
his
unusual
speed
;
but
was
still
pressing
onward
,
in
the
same
wild
and
disordered
manner
,
when
the
sudden
dashing
past
of
a
carriage
:
and
a
boisterous
cry
from
the
foot
passengers
,
who
saw
his
danger
:
drove
him
back
upon
the
pavement
.
Avoiding
,
as
much
as
was
possible
,
all
the
main
streets
,
and
skulking
only
through
the
by-ways
and
alleys
,
he
at
length
emerged
on
Snow
Hill
.
Here
he
walked
even
faster
than
before
;
nor
did
he
linger
until
he
had
again
turned
into
a
court
;
when
,
as
if
conscious
that
he
was
now
in
his
proper
element
,
he
fell
into
his
usual
shuffling
pace
,
and
seemed
to
breathe
more
freely
.
Near
to
the
spot
on
which
Snow
Hill
and
Holborn
Hill
meet
,
opens
,
upon
the
right
hand
as
you
come
out
of
the
City
,
a
narrow
and
dismal
alley
,
leading
to
Saffron
Hill
.
In
its
filthy
shops
are
exposed
for
sale
huge
bunches
of
second-hand
silk
handkerchiefs
,
of
all
sizes
and
patterns
;
for
here
reside
the
traders
who
purchase
them
from
pick-pockets
.
Hundreds
of
these
handkerchiefs
hang
dangling
from
pegs
outside
the
windows
or
flaunting
from
the
door-posts
;
and
the
shelves
,
within
,
are
piled
with
them
.
Confined
as
the
limits
of
Field
Lane
are
,
it
has
its
barber
,
its
coffee-shop
,
its
beer-shop
,
and
its
fried-fish
warehouse
.
It
is
a
commercial
colony
of
itself
:
the
emporium
of
petty
larceny
:
visited
at
early
morning
,
and
setting-in
of
dusk
,
by
silent
merchants
,
who
traffic
in
dark
back-parlours
,
and
who
go
as
strangely
as
they
come
.
Here
,
the
clothesman
,
the
shoe-vamper
,
and
the
rag-merchant
,
display
their
goods
,
as
sign-boards
to
the
petty
thief
;
here
,
stores
of
old
iron
and
bones
,
and
heaps
of
mildewy
fragments
of
woollen-stuff
and
linen
,
rust
and
rot
in
the
grimy
cellars
.
It
was
into
this
place
that
the
Jew
turned
.
He
was
well
known
to
the
sallow
denizens
of
the
lane
;
for
such
of
them
as
were
on
the
look-out
to
buy
or
sell
,
nodded
,
familiarly
,
as
he
passed
along
.
He
replied
to
their
salutations
in
the
same
way
;
but
bestowed
no
closer
recognition
until
he
reached
the
further
end
of
the
alley
;
when
he
stopped
,
to
address
a
salesman
of
small
stature
,
who
had
squeezed
as
much
of
his
person
into
a
child
's
chair
as
the
chair
would
hold
,
and
was
smoking
a
pipe
at
his
warehouse
door
.
'
Why
,
the
sight
of
you
,
Mr.
Fagin
,
would
cure
the
hoptalymy
!
'
said
this
respectable
trader
,
in
acknowledgment
of
the
Jew
's
inquiry
after
his
health
.
'
The
neighbourhood
was
a
little
too
hot
,
Lively
,
'
said
Fagin
,
elevating
his
eyebrows
,
and
crossing
his
hands
upon
his
shoulders
.
'
Well
,
I
've
heerd
that
complaint
of
it
,
once
or
twice
before
,
'
replied
the
trader
;
'
but
it
soon
cools
down
again
;
do
n't
you
find
it
so
?
'
Fagin
nodded
in
the
affirmative
.
Pointing
in
the
direction
of
Saffron
Hill
,
he
inquired
whether
any
one
was
up
yonder
to-night
.
