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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Оливер Твист
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- Стр. 414/420
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Some
of
them
might
have
inhabited
that
very
cell
--
sat
upon
that
very
spot
.
It
was
very
dark
;
why
did
n't
they
bring
a
light
?
The
cell
had
been
built
for
many
years
.
Scores
of
men
must
have
passed
their
last
hours
there
.
It
was
like
sitting
in
a
vault
strewn
with
dead
bodies
--
the
cap
,
the
noose
,
the
pinioned
arms
,
the
faces
that
he
knew
,
even
beneath
that
hideous
veil
.
--
Light
,
light
!
At
length
,
when
his
hands
were
raw
with
beating
against
the
heavy
door
and
walls
,
two
men
appeared
:
one
bearing
a
candle
,
which
he
thrust
into
an
iron
candlestick
fixed
against
the
wall
:
the
other
dragging
in
a
mattress
on
which
to
pass
the
night
;
for
the
prisoner
was
to
be
left
alone
no
more
.
Then
came
the
night
--
dark
,
dismal
,
silent
night
.
Other
watchers
are
glad
to
hear
this
church-clock
strike
,
for
they
tell
of
life
and
coming
day
.
To
him
they
brought
despair
.
The
boom
of
every
iron
bell
came
laden
with
the
one
,
deep
,
hollow
sound
--
Death
.
What
availed
the
noise
and
bustle
of
cheerful
morning
,
which
penetrated
even
there
,
to
him
?
It
was
another
form
of
knell
,
with
mockery
added
to
the
warning
.
The
day
passed
off
.
Day
?
There
was
no
day
;
it
was
gone
as
soon
as
come
--
and
night
came
on
again
;
night
so
long
,
and
yet
so
short
;
long
in
its
dreadful
silence
,
and
short
in
its
fleeting
hours
.
At
one
time
he
raved
and
blasphemed
;
and
at
another
howled
and
tore
his
hair
.
Venerable
men
of
his
own
persuasion
had
come
to
pray
beside
him
,
but
he
had
driven
them
away
with
curses
.
They
renewed
their
charitable
efforts
,
and
he
beat
them
off
.
Saturday
night
.
He
had
only
one
night
more
to
live
.
And
as
he
thought
of
this
,
the
day
broke
--
Sunday
.
It
was
not
until
the
night
of
this
last
awful
day
,
that
a
withering
sense
of
his
helpless
,
desperate
state
came
in
its
full
intensity
upon
his
blighted
soul
;
not
that
he
had
ever
held
any
defined
or
positive
hope
of
mercy
,
but
that
he
had
never
been
able
to
consider
more
than
the
dim
probability
of
dying
so
soon
.
He
had
spoken
little
to
either
of
the
two
men
,
who
relieved
each
other
in
their
attendance
upon
him
;
and
they
,
for
their
parts
,
made
no
effort
to
rouse
his
attention
.
He
had
sat
there
,
awake
,
but
dreaming
.
Now
,
he
started
up
,
every
minute
,
and
with
gasping
mouth
and
burning
skin
,
hurried
to
and
fro
,
in
such
a
paroxysm
of
fear
and
wrath
that
even
they
--
used
to
such
sights
--
recoiled
from
him
with
horror
.
He
grew
so
terrible
,
at
last
,
in
all
the
tortures
of
his
evil
conscience
,
that
one
man
could
not
bear
to
sit
there
,
eyeing
him
alone
;
and
so
the
two
kept
watch
together
.
He
cowered
down
upon
his
stone
bed
,
and
thought
of
the
past
.
He
had
been
wounded
with
some
missiles
from
the
crowd
on
the
day
of
his
capture
,
and
his
head
was
bandaged
with
a
linen
cloth
.
His
red
hair
hung
down
upon
his
bloodless
face
;
his
beard
was
torn
,
and
twisted
into
knots
;
his
eyes
shone
with
a
terrible
light
;
his
unwashed
flesh
crackled
with
the
fever
that
burnt
him
up
.
Eight
--
nine
--
then
.
If
it
was
not
a
trick
to
frighten
him
,
and
those
were
the
real
hours
treading
on
each
other
's
heels
,
where
would
he
be
,
when
they
came
round
again
!
Eleven
!
Another
struck
,
before
the
voice
of
the
previous
hour
had
ceased
to
vibrate
.
At
eight
,
he
would
be
the
only
mourner
in
his
own
funeral
train
;
at
eleven
--
Those
dreadful
walls
of
Newgate
,
which
have
hidden
so
much
misery
and
such
unspeakable
anguish
,
not
only
from
the
eyes
,
but
,
too
often
,
and
too
long
,
from
the
thoughts
,
of
men
,
never
held
so
dread
a
spectacle
as
that
.
The
few
who
lingered
as
they
passed
,
and
wondered
what
the
man
was
doing
who
was
to
be
hanged
to-morrow
,
would
have
slept
but
ill
that
night
,
if
they
could
have
seen
him
.
