Олівер Твіст

Chapter 16

           ‘That’sforourshareofthetrouble,’saidSikes;‘andnothalfenough,neither.Youmaykeepthebooks,ifyou’refondofreading.Ifyouain’t,sell’em.

           ‘They’reverypretty,’saidCharleyBates:who,withsundrygrimaces,hadbeenaffectingtoreadoneofthevolumesinquestion;‘beautifulwriting,isn’tis,Oliver?’AtsightofthedismayedlookwithwhichOliverregardedhistormentors,MasterBates,whowasblessedwithalivelysenseoftheludicrous,fellintoanotherectasy,moreboisterousthanthefirst.

           ‘Theybelongtotheoldgentleman,’saidOliver,wringinghishands;‘tothegood,kind,oldgentlemanwhotookmeintohishouse,andhadmenursed,whenIwasneardyingofthefever.Oh,praysendthemback;sendhimbackthebooksandmoney.Keepmehereallmylifelong;butpray,praysendthemback.He’llthinkIstolethem;theoldlady:allofthemwhoweresokindtome:willthinkIstolethem.Oh,dohavemercyuponme,andsendthemback!’

           Withthesewords,whichwereutteredwithalltheenergyofpassionategrief,OliverfelluponhiskneesattheJew’sfeet;andbeathishandstogether,inperfectdesperation.

           ‘Theboy’sright,’remarkedFagin,lookingcovertlyround,andknittinghisshaggyeyebrowsintoahardknot.‘You’reright,Oliver,you’reright;theyWILLthinkyouhavestolen’em.

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