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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Оливер Твист
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- Стр. 418/420
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'
Have
you
nothing
else
to
ask
him
,
sir
?
'
inquired
the
turnkey
.
'
No
other
question
,
'
replied
Mr.
Brownlow
.
'
If
I
hoped
we
could
recall
him
to
a
sense
of
his
position
--
'
'
Nothing
will
do
that
,
sir
,
'
replied
the
man
,
shaking
his
head
.
'
You
had
better
leave
him
.
'
The
door
of
the
cell
opened
,
and
the
attendants
returned
.
'
Press
on
,
press
on
,
'
cried
Fagin
.
'
Softly
,
but
not
so
slow
.
Faster
,
faster
!
'
The
men
laid
hands
upon
him
,
and
disengaging
Oliver
from
his
grasp
,
held
him
back
.
He
struggled
with
the
power
of
desperation
,
for
an
instant
;
and
then
sent
up
cry
upon
cry
that
penetrated
even
those
massive
walls
,
and
rang
in
their
ears
until
they
reached
the
open
yard
.
It
was
some
time
before
they
left
the
prison
.
Oliver
nearly
swooned
after
this
frightful
scene
,
and
was
so
weak
that
for
an
hour
or
more
,
he
had
not
the
strength
to
walk
.
Day
was
dawning
when
they
again
emerged
.
A
great
multitude
had
already
assembled
;
the
windows
were
filled
with
people
,
smoking
and
playing
cards
to
beguile
the
time
;
the
crowd
were
pushing
,
quarrelling
,
joking
Everything
told
of
life
and
animation
,
but
one
dark
cluster
of
objects
in
the
centre
of
all
--
the
black
stage
,
the
cross-beam
,
the
rope
,
and
all
the
hideous
apparatus
of
death
.
The
fortunes
of
those
who
have
figured
in
this
tale
are
nearly
closed
.
The
little
that
remains
to
their
historian
to
relate
,
is
told
in
few
and
simple
words
.
