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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Оливер Твист
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- Стр. 276/420
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'
Where
is
she
?
'
said
Mr.
Bumble
,
whom
the
gin-and-water
had
rendered
facetious
.
'
It
would
be
hard
to
tell
.
There
's
no
midwifery
there
,
whichever
place
she
's
gone
to
;
so
I
suppose
she
's
out
of
employment
,
anyway
.
'
'
What
do
you
mean
?
'
demanded
the
stranger
,
sternly
.
'
That
she
died
last
winter
,
'
rejoined
Mr.
Bumble
.
The
man
looked
fixedly
at
him
when
he
had
given
this
information
,
and
although
he
did
not
withdraw
his
eyes
for
some
time
afterwards
,
his
gaze
gradually
became
vacant
and
abstracted
,
and
he
seemed
lost
in
thought
.
For
some
time
,
he
appeared
doubtful
whether
he
ought
to
be
relieved
or
disappointed
by
the
intelligence
;
but
at
length
he
breathed
more
freely
;
and
withdrawing
his
eyes
,
observed
that
it
was
no
great
matter
.
With
that
he
rose
,
as
if
to
depart
.
But
Mr.
Bumble
was
cunning
enough
;
and
he
at
once
saw
that
an
opportunity
was
opened
,
for
the
lucrative
disposal
of
some
secret
in
the
possession
of
his
better
half
.
He
well
remembered
the
night
of
old
Sally
's
death
,
which
the
occurrences
of
that
day
had
given
him
good
reason
to
recollect
,
as
the
occasion
on
which
he
had
proposed
to
Mrs.
Corney
;
and
although
that
lady
had
never
confided
to
him
the
disclosure
of
which
she
had
been
the
solitary
witness
,
he
had
heard
enough
to
know
that
it
related
to
something
that
had
occurred
in
the
old
woman
's
attendance
,
as
workhouse
nurse
,
upon
the
young
mother
of
Oliver
Twist
.
Hastily
calling
this
circumstance
to
mind
,
he
informed
the
stranger
,
with
an
air
of
mystery
,
that
one
woman
had
been
closeted
with
the
old
harridan
shortly
before
she
died
;
and
that
she
could
,
as
he
had
reason
to
believe
,
throw
some
light
on
the
subject
of
his
inquiry
.
'
How
can
I
find
her
?
'
said
the
stranger
,
thrown
off
his
guard
;
and
plainly
showing
that
all
his
fears
(
whatever
they
were
)
were
aroused
afresh
by
the
intelligence
.
'
Only
through
me
,
'
rejoined
Mr.
Bumble
'
When
?
'
cried
the
stranger
,
hastily
.
'
To-morrow
,
'
rejoined
Bumble
.
'
At
nine
in
the
evening
,
'
said
the
stranger
,
producing
a
scrap
of
paper
,
and
writing
down
upon
it
,
an
obscure
address
by
the
water-side
,
in
characters
that
betrayed
his
agitation
;
'
at
nine
in
the
evening
,
bring
her
to
me
there
.
I
need
n't
tell
you
to
be
secret
.
It
's
your
interest
.
'
