Олівер Твіст

Chapter 22

           Mutteringacurseuponhistardiness,SikespushedOliverbeforehim;andtheyenteredalowdarkroomwithasmokyfire,twoorthreebrokenchairs,atable,andaveryoldcouch:onwhich,withhislegsmuchhigherthanhishead,amanwasreposingatfulllength,smokingalongclaypipe.Hewasdressedinasmartly-cutsnuff-colouredcoat,withlargebrassbuttons;anorangeneckerchief;acoarse,staring,shawl-patternwaistcoat;anddrabbreeches.Mr.Crackit(forheitwas)hadnoverygreatquantityofhair,eitheruponhisheadorface;butwhathehad,wasofareddishdye,andtorturedintolongcorkscrewcurls,throughwhichheoccasionallythrustsomeverydirtyfingers,ornamentedwithlargecommonrings.Hewasatrifleabovethemiddlesize,andapparentlyratherweakinthelegs;butthiscircumstancebynomeansdetractedfromhisownadmirationofhistop-boots,whichhecontemplated,intheirelevatedsituation,withlivelysatisfaction.

           ‘Bill,myboy!’saidthisfigure,turninghisheadtowardsthedoor,‘I’mgladtoseeyou.Iwasalmostafraidyou’dgivenitup:inwhichcaseIshouldhavemadeapersonalwentur.Hallo!’

           Utteringthisexclamationinatoneofgreatsurprise,ashiseyesrestedonOliver,Mr.TobyCrackitbroughthimselfintoasittingposture,anddemandedwhothatwas.

           ‘Theboy.Onlytheboy!’repliedSikes,drawingachairtowardsthefire.

           ‘WudofBisterFagid’slads,’exclaimedBarney,withagrin.

           ‘Fagin’s,eh!’exclaimedToby,lookingatOliver.

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