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- Чарльз Диккенс
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- Оливер Твист
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'
What
do
you
mean
?
'
said
Charley
.
'
Toor
rul
lol
loo
,
gammon
and
spinnage
,
the
frog
he
would
n't
,
and
high
cockolorum
,
'
said
the
Dodger
:
with
a
slight
sneer
on
his
intellectual
countenance
.
This
was
explanatory
,
but
not
satisfactory
Master
Bates
felt
it
so
;
and
again
said
,
'
What
do
you
mean
?
'
The
Dodger
made
no
reply
;
but
putting
his
hat
on
again
,
and
gathering
the
skirts
of
his
long-tailed
coat
under
his
arm
,
thrust
his
tongue
into
his
cheek
,
slapped
the
bridge
of
his
nose
some
half-dozen
times
in
a
familiar
but
expressive
manner
,
and
turning
on
his
heel
,
slunk
down
the
court
.
Master
Bates
followed
,
with
a
thoughtful
countenance
.
The
noise
of
footsteps
on
the
creaking
stairs
,
a
few
minutes
after
the
occurrence
of
this
conversation
,
roused
the
merry
old
gentleman
as
he
sat
over
the
fire
with
a
saveloy
and
a
small
loaf
in
his
hand
;
a
pocket-knife
in
his
right
;
and
a
pewter
pot
on
the
trivet
.
There
was
a
rascally
smile
on
his
white
face
as
he
turned
round
,
and
looking
sharply
out
from
under
his
thick
red
eyebrows
,
bent
his
ear
towards
the
door
,
and
listened
.
'
Why
,
how
's
this
?
'
muttered
the
Jew
:
changing
countenance
;
'
only
two
of
'em
?
Where
's
the
third
?
They
ca
n't
have
got
into
trouble
.
Hark
!
'
The
footsteps
approached
nearer
;
they
reached
the
landing
.
The
door
was
slowly
opened
;
and
the
Dodger
and
Charley
Bates
entered
,
closing
it
behind
them
.
'
Where
's
Oliver
?
'
said
the
Jew
,
rising
with
a
menacing
look
.
'
Where
's
the
boy
?
'
The
young
thieves
eyed
their
preceptor
as
if
they
were
alarmed
at
his
violence
;
and
looked
uneasily
at
each
other
.
But
they
made
no
reply
.
