Олівер Твіст

Chapter 8

           Hishatwasstuckonthetopofhisheadsolightly,thatitthreatenedtofalloffeverymomentandwouldhavedoneso,veryoften,ifthewearerhadnothadaknackofeverynowandthengivinghisheadasuddentwitch,whichbroughtitbacktoitsoldplaceagain.Heworeaman’scoat,whichreachednearlytohisheels.Hehadturnedthecuffsback,half-wayuphisarm,togethishandsoutofthesleeves:apparentlywiththeultimatedviewofthrustingthemintothepocketsofhiscorduroytrousers;fortherehekeptthem.Hewas,altogether,asroysteringandswaggeringayounggentlemanaseverstoodfourfeetsix,orsomethingless,inthebluchers.

           ‘Hullo,mycovey!What’stherow?’saidthisstrangeyounggentlemantoOliver.

           ‘Iamveryhungryandtired,’repliedOliver:thetearsstandinginhiseyesashespoke.‘Ihavewalkedalongway.Ihavebeenwalkingthesesevendays.

           ‘Walkingforsivindays!’saidtheyounggentleman.‘Oh,Isee.Beak’sorder,eh?But,’headded,noticingOliver’slookofsurprise,‘Isupposeyoudon’tknowwhatabeakis,myflashcom-pan-i-on.

           Olivermildlyreplied,thathehadalwaysheardabird’smouthdescribedbytheterminquestion.

           ‘Myeyes,howgreen!’exclaimedtheyounggentleman.‘Why,abeak’samadgst’rate;andwhenyouwalkbyabeak’sorder,it’snotstraightforerd,butalwaysagoingup,andniveracomingdownagin.Wasyouneveronthemill?’

           ‘Whatmill?’inquiredOliver.

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