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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Оливер Твист
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- Стр. 377/420
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'
Was
it
,
sir
?
'
rejoined
the
guard
,
touching
his
hat
.
'
Man
or
woman
,
pray
,
sir
?
'
'
A
woman
,
'
replied
the
gentleman
.
'
It
is
supposed
--
'
'
Now
,
Ben
,
'
replied
the
coachman
impatiently
.
'
Damn
that
'
ere
bag
,
'
said
the
guard
;
'
are
you
gone
to
sleep
in
there
?
'
'
Coming
!
'
cried
the
office
keeper
,
running
out
.
'
Coming
,
'
growled
the
guard
.
'
Ah
,
and
so
's
the
young
'
ooman
of
property
that
's
going
to
take
a
fancy
to
me
,
but
I
do
n't
know
when
.
Here
,
give
hold
.
All
ri
--
ight
!
'
The
horn
sounded
a
few
cheerful
notes
,
and
the
coach
was
gone
.
Sikes
remained
standing
in
the
street
,
apparently
unmoved
by
what
he
had
just
heard
,
and
agitated
by
no
stronger
feeling
than
a
doubt
where
to
go
.
At
length
he
went
back
again
,
and
took
the
road
which
leads
from
Hatfield
to
St.
Albans
.
He
went
on
doggedly
;
but
as
he
left
the
town
behind
him
,
and
plunged
into
the
solitude
and
darkness
of
the
road
,
he
felt
a
dread
and
awe
creeping
upon
him
which
shook
him
to
the
core
.
Every
object
before
him
,
substance
or
shadow
,
still
or
moving
,
took
the
semblance
of
some
fearful
thing
;
but
these
fears
were
nothing
compared
to
the
sense
that
haunted
him
of
that
morning
's
ghastly
figure
following
at
his
heels
.
He
could
trace
its
shadow
in
the
gloom
,
supply
the
smallest
item
of
the
outline
,
and
note
how
stiff
and
solemn
it
seemed
to
stalk
along
.
He
could
hear
its
garments
rustling
in
the
leaves
,
and
every
breath
of
wind
came
laden
with
that
last
low
cry
.
If
he
stopped
it
did
the
same
.
If
he
ran
,
it
followed
--
not
running
too
:
that
would
have
been
a
relief
:
but
like
a
corpse
endowed
with
the
mere
machinery
of
life
,
and
borne
on
one
slow
melancholy
wind
that
never
rose
or
fell
.
At
times
,
he
turned
,
with
desperate
determination
,
resolved
to
beat
this
phantom
off
,
though
it
should
look
him
dead
;
but
the
hair
rose
on
his
head
,
and
his
blood
stood
still
,
for
it
had
turned
with
him
and
was
behind
him
then
.
He
had
kept
it
before
him
that
morning
,
but
it
was
behind
now
--
always
.
He
leaned
his
back
against
a
bank
,
and
felt
that
it
stood
above
him
,
visibly
out
against
the
cold
night-sky
.
He
threw
himself
upon
the
road
--
on
his
back
upon
the
road
.
At
his
head
it
stood
,
silent
,
erect
,
and
still
--
a
living
grave-stone
,
with
its
epitaph
in
blood
.
