Олівер Твіст

Chapter 12

           ‘Holdyournoise,’remonstratedtheDodger,lookingcautiouslyround.‘Doyouwanttobegrabbed,stupid?’

           ‘Ican’thelpit,’saidCharley,‘Ican’thelpit!Toseehimsplittingawayatthatpace,andcuttingroundthecorners,andknockingupagain’theposts,andstartingonagainasifhewasmadeofironaswellasthem,andmewiththewipeinmypocket,singingoutarterhimoh,myeye!’ThevividimaginationofMasterBatespresentedthescenebeforehimintoostrongcolours.Ashearrivedatthisapostrophe,heagainrolleduponthedoor-step,andlaughedlouderthanbefore.

           ‘What’llFaginsay?’inquiredtheDodger;takingadvantageofthenextintervalofbreathlessnessonthepartofhisfriendtopropoundthequestion.

           ‘What?’repeatedCharleyBates.

           ‘Ah,what?’saidtheDodger.

           ‘Why,whatshouldhesay?’inquiredCharley:stoppingrathersuddenlyinhismerriment;fortheDodger’smannerwasimpressive.‘Whatshouldhesay?’

           Mr.Dawkinswhistledforacoupleofminutes;then,takingoffhishat,scratchedhishead,andnoddedthrice.

           ‘Whatdoyoumean?’saidCharley.

           ‘Toorrullolloo,gammonandspinnage,thefroghewouldn’t,andhighcockolorum,’saidtheDodger:withaslightsneeronhisintellectualcountenance.

           Thiswasexplanatory,butnotsatisfactory

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