Олівер Твіст

Chapter 34

           Theresatthehideousoldman,inhisaccustomedcorner,pointingathim,andwhisperingtoanotherman,withhisfaceaverted,whosatbesidehim.

           ‘Hush,mydear!’hethoughtheheardtheJewsay;‘itishe,sureenough.Comeaway.

           ‘He!’theothermanseemedtoanswer;‘couldImistakehim,thinkyou?Ifacrowdofghostsweretoputthemselvesintohisexactshape,andhestoodamongstthem,thereissomethingthatwouldtellmehowtopointhimout.Ifyouburiedhimfiftyfeetdeep,andtookmeacrosshisgrave,IfancyIshouldknow,iftherewasn’tamarkaboveit,thathelayburiedthere?’

           Themanseemedtosaythis,withsuchdreadfulhatred,thatOliverawokewiththefear,andstartedup.

           GoodHeaven!whatwasthat,whichsentthebloodtinglingtohisheart,anddeprivedhimofhisvoice,andofpowertomove!Therethereatthewindowclosebeforehimsoclose,thathecouldhavealmosttouchedhimbeforehestartedback:withhiseyespeeringintotheroom,andmeetinghis:therestoodtheJew!Andbesidehim,whitewithrageorfear,orboth,werethescowlingfeaturesofthemanwhohadaccostedhimintheinn-yard.

           Itwasbutaninstant,aglance,aflash,beforehiseyes;andtheyweregone.Buttheyhadrecognisedhim,andhethem;andtheirlookwasasfirmlyimpresseduponhismemory,asifithadbeendeeplycarvedinstone,andsetbeforehimfromhisbirth.Hestoodtransfixedforamoment;then,leapingfromthewindowintothegarden,calledloudlyforhelp.

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