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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Оливер Твист
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'
Something
that
was
taken
from
her
,
'
said
Monks
.
'
Something
that
she
wore
.
Something
that
--
'
'
You
had
better
bid
,
'
interrupted
Mrs.
Bumble
.
'
I
have
heard
enough
,
already
,
to
assure
me
that
you
are
the
man
I
ought
to
talk
to
.
'
Mr.
Bumble
,
who
had
not
yet
been
admitted
by
his
better
half
into
any
greater
share
of
the
secret
than
he
had
originally
possessed
,
listened
to
this
dialogue
with
outstretched
neck
and
distended
eyes
:
which
he
directed
towards
his
wife
and
Monks
,
by
turns
,
in
undisguised
astonishment
;
increased
,
if
possible
,
when
the
latter
sternly
demanded
,
what
sum
was
required
for
the
disclosure
.
'
What
's
it
worth
to
you
?
'
asked
the
woman
,
as
collectedly
as
before
.
'
It
may
be
nothing
;
it
may
be
twenty
pounds
,
'
replied
Monks
.
'
Speak
out
,
and
let
me
know
which
.
'
'
Add
five
pounds
to
the
sum
you
have
named
;
give
me
five-and-twenty
pounds
in
gold
,
'
said
the
woman
;
'
and
I
'll
tell
you
all
I
know
.
Not
before
.
'
'
Five-and-twenty
pounds
!
'
exclaimed
Monks
,
drawing
back
.
'
I
spoke
as
plainly
as
I
could
,
'
replied
Mrs.
Bumble
.
'
It
's
not
a
large
sum
,
either
.
'
'
Not
a
large
sum
for
a
paltry
secret
,
that
may
be
nothing
when
it
's
told
!
'
cried
Monks
impatiently
;
'
and
which
has
been
lying
dead
for
twelve
years
past
or
more
!
'
