Оливер Твист

Chapter 12

           Bedwin:drawingherselfupslightly,andlayingstrongemphasisonthelastword:tointimatethatbetweenslops,andbrothwillcompounded,thereexistednoaffinityorconnectionwhatsoever.

           ‘Ugh!’saidMr.Brownlow,withaslightshudder;‘acoupleofglassesofportwinewouldhavedonehimagreatdealmoregood.Wouldn’tthey,TomWhite,eh?’

           ‘MynameisOliver,sir,’repliedthelittleinvalid:withalookofgreatastonishment.

           ‘Oliver,’saidMr.Brownlow;‘Oliverwhat?OliverWhite,eh?’

           ‘No,sir,Twist,OliverTwist.

           ‘Queername!’saidtheoldgentleman.‘WhatmadeyoutellthemagistrateyournamewasWhite?’

           ‘Inevertoldhimso,sir,’returnedOliverinamazement.

           Thissoundedsolikeafalsehood,thattheoldgentlemanlookedsomewhatsternlyinOliver’sface.Itwasimpossibletodoubthim;therewastruthineveryoneofitsthinandsharpenedlineaments.

           ‘Somemistake,’saidMr.Brownlow.But,althoughhismotiveforlookingsteadilyatOlivernolongerexisted,theoldideaoftheresemblancebetweenhisfeaturesandsomefamiliarfacecameuponhimsostrongly,thathecouldnotwithdrawhisgaze.

           ‘Ihopeyouarenotangrywithme,sir?’saidOliver,raisinghiseyesbeseechingly.

           ‘No,no,’repliedtheoldgentleman.‘Why!what’sthis?Bedwin,lookthere!’

           Ashespoke,hepointedhastilytothepictureoverOliver’shead,andthentotheboy’sface.Therewasitslivingcopy.Theeyes,thehead,themouth;everyfeaturewasthesame.

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