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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Оливер Твист
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- Стр. 63/420
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The
old
gentleman
looked
almost
as
rueful
as
Oliver
when
the
key
grated
in
the
lock
.
He
turned
with
a
sigh
to
the
book
,
which
had
been
the
innocent
cause
of
all
this
disturbance
.
'
There
is
something
in
that
boy
's
face
,
'
said
the
old
gentleman
to
himself
as
he
walked
slowly
away
,
tapping
his
chin
with
the
cover
of
the
book
,
in
a
thoughtful
manner
;
'
something
that
touches
and
interests
me
.
CAN
he
be
innocent
?
He
looked
like
--
Bye
the
bye
,
'
exclaimed
the
old
gentleman
,
halting
very
abruptly
,
and
staring
up
into
the
sky
,
'
Bless
my
soul
!
--
where
have
I
seen
something
like
that
look
before
?
'
After
musing
for
some
minutes
,
the
old
gentleman
walked
,
with
the
same
meditative
face
,
into
a
back
anteroom
opening
from
the
yard
;
and
there
,
retiring
into
a
corner
,
called
up
before
his
mind
's
eye
a
vast
amphitheatre
of
faces
over
which
a
dusky
curtain
had
hung
for
many
years
.
'
No
,
'
said
the
old
gentleman
,
shaking
his
head
;
'
it
must
be
imagination
.
He
wandered
over
them
again
.
He
had
called
them
into
view
,
and
it
was
not
easy
to
replace
the
shroud
that
had
so
long
concealed
them
.
There
were
the
faces
of
friends
,
and
foes
,
and
of
many
that
had
been
almost
strangers
peering
intrusively
from
the
crowd
;
there
were
the
faces
of
young
and
blooming
girls
that
were
now
old
women
;
there
were
faces
that
the
grave
had
changed
and
closed
upon
,
but
which
the
mind
,
superior
to
its
power
,
still
dressed
in
their
old
freshness
and
beauty
,
calling
back
the
lustre
of
the
eyes
,
the
brightness
of
the
smile
,
the
beaming
of
the
soul
through
its
mask
of
clay
,
and
whispering
of
beauty
beyond
the
tomb
,
changed
but
to
be
heightened
,
and
taken
from
earth
only
to
be
set
up
as
a
light
,
to
shed
a
soft
and
gentle
glow
upon
the
path
to
Heaven
.
But
the
old
gentleman
could
recall
no
one
countenance
of
which
Oliver
's
features
bore
a
trace
.
So
,
he
heaved
a
sigh
over
the
recollections
he
awakened
;
and
being
,
happily
for
himself
,
an
absent
old
gentleman
,
buried
them
again
in
the
pages
of
the
musty
book
.
He
was
roused
by
a
touch
on
the
shoulder
,
and
a
request
from
the
man
with
the
keys
to
follow
him
into
the
office
.
He
closed
his
book
hastily
;
and
was
at
once
ushered
into
the
imposing
presence
of
the
renowned
Mr.
Fang
.
The
office
was
a
front
parlour
,
with
a
panelled
wall
.
Mr.
Fang
sat
behind
a
bar
,
at
the
upper
end
;
and
on
one
side
the
door
was
a
sort
of
wooden
pen
in
which
poor
little
Oliver
was
already
deposited
;
trembling
very
much
at
the
awfulness
of
the
scene
.
Mr.
Fang
was
a
lean
,
long-backed
,
stiff-necked
,
middle-sized
man
,
with
no
great
quantity
of
hair
,
and
what
he
had
,
growing
on
the
back
and
sides
of
his
head
.
His
face
was
stern
,
and
much
flushed
.
If
he
were
really
not
in
the
habit
of
drinking
rather
more
than
was
exactly
good
for
him
,
he
might
have
brought
action
against
his
countenance
for
libel
,
and
have
recovered
heavy
damages
.
