-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Чарльз Диккенс
-
- Оливер Твист
-
- Стр. 376/420
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
'
There
are
fourteen
water-mills
,
six
steam-engines
,
and
a
galvanic
battery
,
always
a-working
upon
it
,
and
they
ca
n't
make
it
fast
enough
,
though
the
men
work
so
hard
that
they
die
off
,
and
the
widows
is
pensioned
directly
,
with
twenty
pound
a-year
for
each
of
the
children
,
and
a
premium
of
fifty
for
twins
.
One
penny
a
square
!
Two
half-pence
is
all
the
same
,
and
four
farthings
is
received
with
joy
.
One
penny
a
square
!
Wine-stains
,
fruit-stains
,
beer-stains
,
water-stains
,
paint-stains
,
pitch-stains
,
mud-stains
,
blood-stains
!
Here
is
a
stain
upon
the
hat
of
a
gentleman
in
company
,
that
I
'll
take
clean
out
,
before
he
can
order
me
a
pint
of
ale
.
'
'
Hah
!
'
cried
Sikes
starting
up
.
'
Give
that
back
.
'
'
I
'll
take
it
clean
out
,
sir
,
'
replied
the
man
,
winking
to
the
company
,
'
before
you
can
come
across
the
room
to
get
it
.
Gentlemen
all
,
observe
the
dark
stain
upon
this
gentleman
's
hat
,
no
wider
than
a
shilling
,
but
thicker
than
a
half-crown
.
Whether
it
is
a
wine-stain
,
fruit-stain
,
beer-stain
,
water-stain
,
paint-stain
,
pitch-stain
,
mud-stain
,
or
blood-stain
--
'
The
man
got
no
further
,
for
Sikes
with
a
hideous
imprecation
overthrew
the
table
,
and
tearing
the
hat
from
him
,
burst
out
of
the
house
.
With
the
same
perversity
of
feeling
and
irresolution
that
had
fastened
upon
him
,
despite
himself
,
all
day
,
the
murderer
,
finding
that
he
was
not
followed
,
and
that
they
most
probably
considered
him
some
drunken
sullen
fellow
,
turned
back
up
the
town
,
and
getting
out
of
the
glare
of
the
lamps
of
a
stage-coach
that
was
standing
in
the
street
,
was
walking
past
,
when
he
recognised
the
mail
from
London
,
and
saw
that
it
was
standing
at
the
little
post-office
.
He
almost
knew
what
was
to
come
;
but
he
crossed
over
,
and
listened
.
The
guard
was
standing
at
the
door
,
waiting
for
the
letter-bag
.
A
man
,
dressed
like
a
game-keeper
,
came
up
at
the
moment
,
and
he
handed
him
a
basket
which
lay
ready
on
the
pavement
.
'
That
's
for
your
people
,
'
said
the
guard
.
'
Now
,
look
alive
in
there
,
will
you
.
Damn
that
'
ere
bag
,
it
war
n't
ready
night
afore
last
;
this
wo
n't
do
,
you
know
!
'
'
Anything
new
up
in
town
,
Ben
?
'
asked
the
game-keeper
,
drawing
back
to
the
window-shutters
,
the
better
to
admire
the
horses
.
'
No
,
nothing
that
I
knows
on
,
'
replied
the
man
,
pulling
on
his
gloves
.
'
Corn
's
up
a
little
.
I
heerd
talk
of
a
murder
,
too
,
down
Spitalfields
way
,
but
I
do
n't
reckon
much
upon
it
.
'
'
Oh
,
that
's
quite
true
,
'
said
a
gentleman
inside
,
who
was
looking
out
of
the
window
.
'
And
a
dreadful
murder
it
was
.
'
