Олівер Твіст

Chapter 48

           Withthesameperversityoffeelingandirresolutionthathadfasteneduponhim,despitehimself,allday,themurderer,findingthathewasnotfollowed,andthattheymostprobablyconsideredhimsomedrunkensullenfellow,turnedbackupthetown,andgettingoutoftheglareofthelampsofastage-coachthatwasstandinginthestreet,waswalkingpast,whenherecognisedthemailfromLondon,andsawthatitwasstandingatthelittlepost-office.Healmostknewwhatwastocome;buthecrossedover,andlistened.

           Theguardwasstandingatthedoor,waitingfortheletter-bag.Aman,dressedlikeagame-keeper,cameupatthemoment,andhehandedhimabasketwhichlayreadyonthepavement.

           ‘That’sforyourpeople,’saidtheguard.‘Now,lookaliveinthere,willyou.Damnthat‘erebag,itwarn’treadynightaforelast;thiswon’tdo,youknow!’

           ‘Anythingnewupintown,Ben?’askedthegame-keeper,drawingbacktothewindow-shutters,thebettertoadmirethehorses.

           ‘No,nothingthatIknowson,’repliedtheman,pullingonhisgloves.‘Corn’supalittle.Iheerdtalkofamurder,too,downSpitalfieldsway,butIdon’treckonmuchuponit.

           ‘Oh,that’squitetrue,’saidagentlemaninside,whowaslookingoutofthewindow.‘Andadreadfulmurderitwas.

           ‘Wasit,sir?’rejoinedtheguard,touchinghishat.‘Manorwoman,pray,sir?’

           ‘Awoman,’repliedthegentleman.‘Itissupposed

           ‘Now,Ben,’repliedthecoachmanimpatiently.

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