Олівер Твіст

Chapter 4

           Withthis,theundertaker’swifeopenedasidedoor,andpushedOliverdownasteepflightofstairsintoastonecell,dampanddark:formingtheante-roomtothecoal-cellar,anddenominated‘kitchen’;whereinsataslatternlygirl,inshoesdownatheel,andblueworstedstockingsverymuchoutofrepair.

           ‘Here,Charlotte,’saidMr.Sowerberry,whohadfollowedOliverdown,‘givethisboysomeofthecoldbitsthatwereputbyforTrip.Hehasn’tcomehomesincethemorning,sohemaygowithout’em.Idaresaytheboyisn’ttoodaintytoeat’emareyou,boy?’

           Oliver,whoseeyeshadglistenedatthementionofmeat,andwhowastremblingwitheagernesstodevourit,repliedinthenegative;andaplatefulofcoarsebrokenvictualswassetbeforehim.

           Iwishsomewell-fedphilosopher,whosemeatanddrinkturntogallwithinhim;whosebloodisice,whoseheartisiron;couldhaveseenOliverTwistclutchingatthedaintyviandsthatthedoghadneglected.IwishhecouldhavewitnessedthehorribleaviditywithwhichOlivertorethebitsasunderwithalltheferocityoffamine.ThereisonlyonethingIshouldlikebetter;andthatwouldbetoseethePhilosophermakingthesamesortofmealhimself,withthesamerelish.

           ‘Well,’saidtheundertaker’swife,whenOliverhadfinishedhissupper:whichshehadregardedinsilenthorror,andwithfearfulauguriesofhisfutureappetite:‘haveyoudone?’

           Therebeingnothingeatablewithinhisreach,Oliverrepliedintheaffirmative.

           ‘Thencomewithme,’saidMrs.Sowerberry:takingupadimanddirtylamp,andleadingthewayupstairs;‘yourbed’sunderthecounter.

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