Олівер Твіст

Chapter 20

           Here,too,hereadofmenwho,lyingintheirbedsatdeadofnight,hadbeentempted(sotheysaid)andledon,bytheirownbadthoughts,tosuchdreadfulbloodshedasitmadethefleshcreep,andthelimbsquail,tothinkof.Theterribledescriptionsweresorealandvivid,thatthesallowpagesseemedtoturnredwithgore;andthewordsuponthem,tobesoundedinhisears,asiftheywerewhispered,inhollowmurmers,bythespiritsofthedead.

           Inaparoxysmoffear,theboyclosedthebook,andthrustitfromhim.Then,fallinguponhisknees,heprayedHeaventosparehimfromsuchdeeds;andrathertowillthatheshoulddieatonce,thanbereservedforcrimes,sofearfulandappaling.Bydegrees,hegrewmorecalm,andbesought,inalowandbrokenvoice,thathemightberescuedfromhispresentdangers;andthatifanyaidweretoberaisedupforapooroutcastboywhohadneverknowntheloveoffriendsorkindred,itmightcometohimnow,when,desolateanddeserted,hestoodaloneinthemidstofwickednessandguilt.

           Hehadconcludedhisprayer,butstillremainedwithhisheadburiedinhishands,whenarustlingnoisearousedhim.

           ‘What’sthat!’hecried,startingup,andcatchingsightofafigurestandingbythedoor.‘Who’sthere?’

           ‘Me.Onlyme,’repliedatremulousvoice.

           Oliverraisedthecandleabovehishead:andlookedtowardsthedoor.ItwasNancy.

           ‘Putdownthelight,’saidthegirl,turningawayherhead.‘Ithurtsmyeyes.

           Oliversawthatshewasverypale,andgentlyinquiredifshewereill.

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