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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Оливер Твист
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- Стр. 248/420
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How
often
did
Oliver
start
from
his
bed
that
night
,
and
stealing
out
,
with
noiseless
footstep
,
to
the
staircase
,
listen
for
the
slightest
sound
from
the
sick
chamber
!
How
often
did
a
tremble
shake
his
frame
,
and
cold
drops
of
terror
start
upon
his
brow
,
when
a
sudden
trampling
of
feet
caused
him
to
fear
that
something
too
dreadful
to
think
of
,
had
even
then
occurred
!
And
what
had
been
the
fervency
of
all
the
prayers
he
had
ever
muttered
,
compared
with
those
he
poured
forth
,
now
,
in
the
agony
and
passion
of
his
supplication
for
the
life
and
health
of
the
gentle
creature
,
who
was
tottering
on
the
deep
grave
's
verge
!
Oh
!
the
suspense
,
the
fearful
,
acute
suspense
,
of
standing
idly
by
while
the
life
of
one
we
dearly
love
,
is
trembling
in
the
balance
!
Oh
!
the
racking
thoughts
that
crowd
upon
the
mind
,
and
make
the
heart
beat
violently
,
and
the
breath
come
thick
,
by
the
force
of
the
images
they
conjure
up
before
it
;
the
DESPERATE
ANXIETY
TO
BE
DOING
SOMETHING
to
relieve
the
pain
,
or
lessen
the
danger
,
which
we
have
no
power
to
alleviate
;
the
sinking
of
soul
and
spirit
,
which
the
sad
remembrance
of
our
helplessness
produces
;
what
tortures
can
equal
these
;
what
reflections
or
endeavours
can
,
in
the
full
tide
and
fever
of
the
time
,
allay
them
!
Morning
came
;
and
the
little
cottage
was
lonely
and
still
.
People
spoke
in
whispers
;
anxious
faces
appeared
at
the
gate
,
from
time
to
time
;
women
and
children
went
away
in
tears
.
All
the
livelong
day
,
and
for
hours
after
it
had
grown
dark
,
Oliver
paced
softly
up
and
down
the
garden
,
raising
his
eyes
every
instant
to
the
sick
chamber
,
and
shuddering
to
see
the
darkened
window
,
looking
as
if
death
lay
stretched
inside
.
Late
that
night
,
Mr.
Losberne
arrived
.
'
It
is
hard
,
'
said
the
good
doctor
,
turning
away
as
he
spoke
;
'
so
young
;
so
much
beloved
;
but
there
is
very
little
hope
.
'
Another
morning
.
The
sun
shone
brightly
;
as
brightly
as
if
it
looked
upon
no
misery
or
care
;
and
,
with
every
leaf
and
flower
in
full
bloom
about
her
;
with
life
,
and
health
,
and
sounds
and
sights
of
joy
,
surrounding
her
on
every
side
:
the
fair
young
creature
lay
,
wasting
fast
.
Oliver
crept
away
to
the
old
churchyard
,
and
sitting
down
on
one
of
the
green
mounds
,
wept
and
prayed
for
her
,
in
silence
.
There
was
such
peace
and
beauty
in
the
scene
;
so
much
of
brightness
and
mirth
in
the
sunny
landscape
;
such
blithesome
music
in
the
songs
of
the
summer
birds
;
such
freedom
in
the
rapid
flight
of
the
rook
,
careering
overhead
;
so
much
of
life
and
joyousness
in
all
;
that
,
when
the
boy
raised
his
aching
eyes
,
and
looked
about
,
the
thought
instinctively
occurred
to
him
,
that
this
was
not
a
time
for
death
;
that
Rose
could
surely
never
die
when
humbler
things
were
all
so
glad
and
gay
;
that
graves
were
for
cold
and
cheerless
winter
:
not
for
sunlight
and
fragrance
.
He
almost
thought
that
shrouds
were
for
the
old
and
shrunken
;
and
that
they
never
wrapped
the
young
and
graceful
form
in
their
ghastly
folds
.
A
knell
from
the
church
bell
broke
harshly
on
these
youthful
thoughts
.
Another
!
Again
!
It
was
tolling
for
the
funeral
service
.
A
group
of
humble
mourners
entered
the
gate
:
wearing
white
favours
;
for
the
corpse
was
young
.
They
stood
uncovered
by
a
grave
;
and
there
was
a
mother
--
a
mother
once
--
among
the
weeping
train
.
But
the
sun
shone
brightly
,
and
the
birds
sang
on
.
Oliver
turned
homeward
,
thinking
on
the
many
kindnesses
he
had
received
from
the
young
lady
,
and
wishing
that
the
time
could
come
again
,
that
he
might
never
cease
showing
her
how
grateful
and
attached
he
was
.
He
had
no
cause
for
self-reproach
on
the
score
of
neglect
,
or
want
of
thought
,
for
he
had
been
devoted
to
her
service
;
and
yet
a
hundred
little
occasions
rose
up
before
him
,
on
which
he
fancied
he
might
have
been
more
zealous
,
and
more
earnest
,
and
wished
he
had
been
.
We
need
be
careful
how
we
deal
with
those
about
us
,
when
every
death
carries
to
some
small
circle
of
survivors
,
thoughts
of
so
much
omitted
,
and
so
little
done
--
of
so
many
things
forgotten
,
and
so
many
more
which
might
have
been
repaired
!
There
is
no
remorse
so
deep
as
that
which
is
unavailing
;
if
we
would
be
spared
its
tortures
,
let
us
remember
this
,
in
time
.
When
he
reached
home
Mrs.
Maylie
was
sitting
in
the
little
parlour
.
Oliver
's
heart
sand
at
sight
of
her
;
for
she
had
never
left
the
bedside
of
her
niece
;
and
he
trembled
to
think
what
change
could
have
driven
her
away
.
He
learnt
that
she
had
fallen
into
a
deep
sleep
,
from
which
she
would
waken
,
either
to
recovery
and
life
,
or
to
bid
them
farewell
,
and
die
.
