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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Оливер Твист
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- Стр. 374/420
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He
struck
a
light
,
kindled
a
fire
,
and
thrust
the
club
into
it
.
There
was
hair
upon
the
end
,
which
blazed
and
shrunk
into
a
light
cinder
,
and
,
caught
by
the
air
,
whirled
up
the
chimney
.
Even
that
frightened
him
,
sturdy
as
he
was
;
but
he
held
the
weapon
till
it
broke
,
and
then
piled
it
on
the
coals
to
burn
away
,
and
smoulder
into
ashes
.
He
washed
himself
,
and
rubbed
his
clothes
;
there
were
spots
that
would
not
be
removed
,
but
he
cut
the
pieces
out
,
and
burnt
them
.
How
those
stains
were
dispersed
about
the
room
!
The
very
feet
of
the
dog
were
bloody
.
All
this
time
he
had
,
never
once
,
turned
his
back
upon
the
corpse
;
no
,
not
for
a
moment
.
Such
preparations
completed
,
he
moved
,
backward
,
towards
the
door
:
dragging
the
dog
with
him
,
lest
he
should
soil
his
feet
anew
and
carry
out
new
evidence
of
the
crime
into
the
streets
.
He
shut
the
door
softly
,
locked
it
,
took
the
key
,
and
left
the
house
.
He
crossed
over
,
and
glanced
up
at
the
window
,
to
be
sure
that
nothing
was
visible
from
the
outside
.
There
was
the
curtain
still
drawn
,
which
she
would
have
opened
to
admit
the
light
she
never
saw
again
.
It
lay
nearly
under
there
.
HE
knew
that
.
God
,
how
the
sun
poured
down
upon
the
very
spot
!
The
glance
was
instantaneous
.
It
was
a
relief
to
have
got
free
of
the
room
.
He
whistled
on
the
dog
,
and
walked
rapidly
away
.
He
went
through
Islington
;
strode
up
the
hill
at
Highgate
on
which
stands
the
stone
in
honour
of
Whittington
;
turned
down
to
Highgate
Hill
,
unsteady
of
purpose
,
and
uncertain
where
to
go
;
struck
off
to
the
right
again
,
almost
as
soon
as
he
began
to
descend
it
;
and
taking
the
foot-path
across
the
fields
,
skirted
Caen
Wood
,
and
so
came
on
Hampstead
Heath
.
Traversing
the
hollow
by
the
Vale
of
Heath
,
he
mounted
the
opposite
bank
,
and
crossing
the
road
which
joins
the
villages
of
Hampstead
and
Highgate
,
made
along
the
remaining
portion
of
the
heath
to
the
fields
at
North
End
,
in
one
of
which
he
laid
himself
down
under
a
hedge
,
and
slept
.
Soon
he
was
up
again
,
and
away
--
not
far
into
the
country
,
but
back
towards
London
by
the
high-road
--
then
back
again
--
then
over
another
part
of
the
same
ground
as
he
already
traversed
--
then
wandering
up
and
down
in
fields
,
and
lying
on
ditches
'
brinks
to
rest
,
and
starting
up
to
make
for
some
other
spot
,
and
do
the
same
,
and
ramble
on
again
.
Where
could
he
go
,
that
was
near
and
not
too
public
,
to
get
some
meat
and
drink
?
Hendon
.
That
was
a
good
place
,
not
far
off
,
and
out
of
most
people
's
way
.
Thither
he
directed
his
steps
--
running
sometimes
,
and
sometimes
,
with
a
strange
perversity
,
loitering
at
a
snail
's
pace
,
or
stopping
altogether
and
idly
breaking
the
hedges
with
a
stick
.
But
when
he
got
there
,
all
the
people
he
met
--
the
very
children
at
the
doors
--
seemed
to
view
him
with
suspicion
.
Back
he
turned
again
,
without
the
courage
to
purchase
bit
or
drop
,
though
he
had
tasted
no
food
for
many
hours
;
and
once
more
he
lingered
on
the
Heath
,
uncertain
where
to
go
.
He
wandered
over
miles
and
miles
of
ground
,
and
still
came
back
to
the
old
place
.
Morning
and
noon
had
passed
,
and
the
day
was
on
the
wane
,
and
still
he
rambled
to
and
fro
,
and
up
and
down
,
and
round
and
round
,
and
still
lingered
about
the
same
spot
.
At
last
he
got
away
,
and
shaped
his
course
for
Hatfield
.
