Оливер Твист

Chapter 52

           Itwasnotuntilthenightofthislastawfulday,thatawitheringsenseofhishelpless,desperatestatecameinitsfullintensityuponhisblightedsoul;notthathehadeverheldanydefinedorpositivehopeofmercy,butthathehadneverbeenabletoconsidermorethanthedimprobabilityofdyingsosoon.Hehadspokenlittletoeitherofthetwomen,whorelievedeachotherintheirattendanceuponhim;andthey,fortheirparts,madenoefforttorousehisattention.Hehadsatthere,awake,butdreaming.Now,hestartedup,everyminute,andwithgaspingmouthandburningskin,hurriedtoandfro,insuchaparoxysmoffearandwraththateventhey—usedtosuchsights—recoiledfromhimwithhorror.Hegrewsoterrible,atlast,inallthetorturesofhisevilconscience,thatonemancouldnotbeartositthere,eyeinghimalone;andsothetwokeptwatchtogether.

           Hecowereddownuponhisstonebed,andthoughtofthepast.Hehadbeenwoundedwithsomemissilesfromthecrowdonthedayofhiscapture,andhisheadwasbandagedwithalinencloth.Hisredhairhungdownuponhisbloodlessface;hisbeardwastorn,andtwistedintoknots;hiseyesshonewithaterriblelight;hisunwashedfleshcrackledwiththefeverthatburnthimup.Eight—nine—then.Ifitwasnotatricktofrightenhim,andthoseweretherealhourstreadingoneachother’sheels,wherewouldhebe,whentheycameroundagain!Eleven!Anotherstruck,beforethevoiceoftheprevioushourhadceasedtovibrate.

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