Олівер Твіст

Chapter 8

           Coveredwaysandyards,whichhereandtheredivergedfromthemainstreet,disclosedlittleknotsofhouses,wheredrunkenmenandwomenwerepositivelywallowinginfilth;andfromseveralofthedoor-ways,greatill-lookingfellowswerecautiouslyemerging,bound,toallappearance,onnoverywell-disposedorharmlesserrands.

           Oliverwasjustconsideringwhetherhehadn’tbetterrunaway,whentheyreachedthebottomofthehill.Hisconductor,catchinghimbythearm,pushedopenthedoorofahousenearFieldLane;anddrawinghimintothepassage,closeditbehindthem.

           ‘Now,then!’criedavoicefrombelow,inreplytoawhistlefromtheDodger.

           ‘Plummyandslam!’wasthereply.

           Thisseemedtobesomewatchwordorsignalthatallwasright;forthelightofafeeblecandlegleamedonthewallattheremoteendofthepassage;andaman’sfacepeepedout,fromwhereabalustradeoftheoldkitchenstaircasehadbeenbrokenaway.

           ‘There’stwoonyou,’saidtheman,thrustingthecandlefartherout,andshieldinghiseyeswithhishand.‘Who’sthet’otherone?’

           ‘Anewpal,’repliedJackDawkins,pullingOliverforward.

           ‘Wheredidhecomefrom?’

           ‘Greenland.IsFaginupstairs?’

           ‘Yes,he’sasortin’thewipes.Upwithyou!’Thecandlewasdrawnback,andthefacedisappeared.

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