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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Оливер Твист
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- Стр. 257/420
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There
is
a
kind
of
sleep
that
steals
upon
us
sometimes
,
which
,
while
it
holds
the
body
prisoner
,
does
not
free
the
mind
from
a
sense
of
things
about
it
,
and
enable
it
to
ramble
at
its
pleasure
.
So
far
as
an
overpowering
heaviness
,
a
prostration
of
strength
,
and
an
utter
inability
to
control
our
thoughts
or
power
of
motion
,
can
be
called
sleep
,
this
is
it
;
and
yet
,
we
have
a
consciousness
of
all
that
is
going
on
about
us
,
and
,
if
we
dream
at
such
a
time
,
words
which
are
really
spoken
,
or
sounds
which
really
exist
at
the
moment
,
accommodate
themselves
with
surprising
readiness
to
our
visions
,
until
reality
and
imagination
become
so
strangely
blended
that
it
is
afterwards
almost
matter
of
impossibility
to
separate
the
two
.
Nor
is
this
,
the
most
striking
phenomenon
indcidental
to
such
a
state
.
It
is
an
undoubted
fact
,
that
although
our
senses
of
touch
and
sight
be
for
the
time
dead
,
yet
our
sleeping
thoughts
,
and
the
visionary
scenes
that
pass
before
us
,
will
be
influenced
and
materially
influenced
,
by
the
MERE
SILENT
PRESENCE
of
some
external
object
;
which
may
not
have
been
near
us
when
we
closed
our
eyes
:
and
of
whose
vicinity
we
have
had
no
waking
consciousness
.
Oliver
knew
,
perfectly
well
,
that
he
was
in
his
own
little
room
;
that
his
books
were
lying
on
the
table
before
him
;
that
the
sweet
air
was
stirring
among
the
creeping
plants
outside
.
And
yet
he
was
asleep
.
Suddenly
,
the
scene
changed
;
the
air
became
close
and
confined
;
and
he
thought
,
with
a
glow
of
terror
,
that
he
was
in
the
Jew
's
house
again
There
sat
the
hideous
old
man
,
in
his
accustomed
corner
,
pointing
at
him
,
and
whispering
to
another
man
,
with
his
face
averted
,
who
sat
beside
him
.
'
Hush
,
my
dear
!
'
he
thought
he
heard
the
Jew
say
;
'
it
is
he
,
sure
enough
.
Come
away
.
'
'
He
!
'
the
other
man
seemed
to
answer
;
'
could
I
mistake
him
,
think
you
?
If
a
crowd
of
ghosts
were
to
put
themselves
into
his
exact
shape
,
and
he
stood
amongst
them
,
there
is
something
that
would
tell
me
how
to
point
him
out
.
If
you
buried
him
fifty
feet
deep
,
and
took
me
across
his
grave
,
I
fancy
I
should
know
,
if
there
was
n't
a
mark
above
it
,
that
he
lay
buried
there
?
'
The
man
seemed
to
say
this
,
with
such
dreadful
hatred
,
that
Oliver
awoke
with
the
fear
,
and
started
up
.
Good
Heaven
!
what
was
that
,
which
sent
the
blood
tingling
to
his
heart
,
and
deprived
him
of
his
voice
,
and
of
power
to
move
!
There
--
there
--
at
the
window
--
close
before
him
--
so
close
,
that
he
could
have
almost
touched
him
before
he
started
back
:
with
his
eyes
peering
into
the
room
,
and
meeting
his
:
there
stood
the
Jew
!
And
beside
him
,
white
with
rage
or
fear
,
or
both
,
were
the
scowling
features
of
the
man
who
had
accosted
him
in
the
inn-yard
.
It
was
but
an
instant
,
a
glance
,
a
flash
,
before
his
eyes
;
and
they
were
gone
.
But
they
had
recognised
him
,
and
he
them
;
and
their
look
was
as
firmly
impressed
upon
his
memory
,
as
if
it
had
been
deeply
carved
in
stone
,
and
set
before
him
from
his
birth
.
He
stood
transfixed
for
a
moment
;
then
,
leaping
from
the
window
into
the
garden
,
called
loudly
for
help
.
When
the
inmates
of
the
house
,
attracted
by
Oliver
's
cries
,
hurried
to
the
spot
from
which
they
proceeded
,
they
found
him
,
pale
and
agitated
,
pointing
in
the
direction
of
the
meadows
behind
the
house
,
and
scarcely
able
to
articulate
the
words
,
'
The
Jew
!
the
Jew
!
'
Mr.
Giles
was
at
a
loss
to
comprehend
what
this
outcry
meant
;
but
Harry
Maylie
,
whose
perceptions
were
something
quicker
,
and
who
had
heard
Oliver
's
history
from
his
mother
,
understood
it
at
once
.
