Oliver Twist/Source/Chapter 52: Difference between revisions
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| section = Chapter 52 |
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<title>Login required - All The Tropes</title> |
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| previous = [[../Chapter 51|Chapter 51]] |
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| next = [[../Chapter 53|Chapter 53]] |
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===Fagin's Last Night Alive=== |
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<link rel="stylesheet" href="/w/load.php?debug=false&lang=en&modules=site.styles&only=styles&skin=vector"/> |
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The court was paved, from floor to roof, with human faces. |
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Inquisitive and eager eyes peered from every inch of space. From |
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<meta name="robots" content="noindex,nofollow"/> |
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the rail before the dock, away into the sharpest angle of the |
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<link rel="apple-touch-icon" href="/apple-touch-icon.png"/> |
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smallest corner in the galleries, all looks were fixed upon one |
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<link rel="shortcut icon" href="/favicon.ico"/> |
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man--Fagin. Before him and behind: above, below, on the right |
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<link rel="search" type="application/opensearchdescription+xml" href="/w/opensearch_desc.php" title="All The Tropes (en)"/> |
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and on the left: he seemed to stand surrounded by a firmament, |
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<link rel="EditURI" type="application/rsd+xml" href="https://allthetropes.org/w/api.php?action=rsd"/> |
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all bright with gleaming eyes. |
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<link rel="license" href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/"/> |
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<link rel="alternate" type="application/atom+xml" title="All The Tropes Atom feed" href="/w/index.php?title=Special:RecentChanges&feed=atom"/> |
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He stood there, in all this glare of living light, with one hand |
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<link rel="dns-prefetch" href="//login.miraheze.org"/> |
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resting on the wooden slab before him, the other held to his ear, |
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and his head thrust forward to enable him to catch with greater |
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</head> |
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distinctness every word that fell from the presiding judge, who |
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was delivering his charge to the jury. At times, he turned his |
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<div id="mw-head-base" class="noprint"></div> |
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eyes sharply upon them to observe the effect of the slightest |
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<div id="content" class="mw-body" role="main"> |
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featherweight in his favour; and when the points against him were |
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<a id="top"></a> |
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stated with terrible distinctness, looked towards his counsel, in |
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<div id="siteNotice" class="mw-body-content"><!-- CentralNotice --></div><div class="mw-indicators mw-body-content"> |
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mute appeal that he would, even then, urge something in his |
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</div> |
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behalf. Beyond these manifestations of anxiety, he stirred not |
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<h1 id="firstHeading" class="firstHeading" lang="en">Login required</h1> <div id="bodyContent" class="mw-body-content"> |
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hand or foot. He had scarcely moved since the trial began; and |
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<div id="contentSub"></div> |
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now that the judge ceased to speak, he still remained in the same |
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<div id="jump-to-nav" class="mw-jump"> |
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strained attitude of close attention, with his gaze bent on him, |
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Jump to: <a href="#mw-head">navigation</a>, <a href="#p-search">search</a> |
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as though he listened still. |
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</div> |
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<div id="mw-content-text">Please <a href="/w/index.php?title=Special:UserLogin&returnto=Oliver+Twist%2FSource%2FChapter+52&returntoquery=action%3Draw" title="Special:UserLogin">log in</a> to view other pages.<p id="mw-returnto">Return to <a href="/wiki/Main_Page" title="Main Page">Main Page</a>.</p> |
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A slight bustle in the court, recalled him to himself. Looking |
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<noscript><img src="https://allthetropes.org/wiki/Special:CentralAutoLogin/start?type=1x1" alt="" title="" width="1" height="1" style="border: none; position: absolute;" /></noscript></div> <div class="printfooter"> |
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round, he saw that the juryman had turned together, to consider |
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Retrieved from "<a dir="ltr" href="https://allthetropes.org/wiki/Special:Badtitle">https://allthetropes.org/wiki/Special:Badtitle{{Dead link}}</a>" </div> |
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their verdict. As his eyes wandered to the gallery, he could see |
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<div id="catlinks" class="catlinks catlinks-allhidden" data-mw="interface"></div> <div class="visualClear"></div> |
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the people rising above each other to see his face: some hastily |
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applying their glasses to their eyes: and others whispering |
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their neighbours with looks expressive of abhorrence. A few |
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<div id="mw-navigation"> |
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there were, who seemed unmindful of him, and looked only to the |
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<h2>Navigation menu</h2> |
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jury, in impatient wonder how they could delay. But in no one |
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<div id="mw-head"> |
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face--not even among the women, of whom there were many |
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<div id="p-personal" role="navigation" class="" aria-labelledby="p-personal-label"> |
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there--could he read the faintest sympathy with himself, or any |
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<h3 id="p-personal-label">Personal tools</h3> |
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feeling but one of all-absorbing interest that he should be |
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<ul> |
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condemned. |
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<li id="pt-login-private"><a href="/w/index.php?title=Special:UserLogin&returnto=Oliver+Twist%2FSource%2FChapter+52&returntoquery=action%3Draw" title="You need to log in to use this wiki [o]" accesskey="o">Log in</a></li> </ul> |
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</div> |
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As he saw all this in one bewildered glance, the deathlike |
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<div id="left-navigation"> |
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stillness came again, and looking back he saw that the jurymen |
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<div id="p-namespaces" role="navigation" class="vectorTabs" aria-labelledby="p-namespaces-label"> |
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had turned towards the judge. Hush! |
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<h3 id="p-namespaces-label">Namespaces</h3> |
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<ul> |
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They only sought permission to retire. |
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<li id="ca-nstab-special" class="selected"><span><a href="/w/index.php?action=raw&title=Oliver+Twist%2FSource%2FChapter+52" title="This is a special page, and it cannot be edited">Special page</a></span></li> </ul> |
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</div> |
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He looked, wistfully, into their faces, one by one when they |
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<div id="p-variants" role="navigation" class="vectorMenu emptyPortlet" aria-labelledby="p-variants-label"> |
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passed out, as though to see which way the greater number leant; |
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<input type="checkbox" class="vectorMenuCheckbox" aria-labelledby="p-variants-label" /> |
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but that was fruitless. The jailer touched him on the shoulder. |
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<h3 id="p-variants-label"> |
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He followed mechanically to the end of the dock, and sat down on |
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<span>Variants</span> |
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a chair. The man pointed it out, or he would not have seen it. |
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</h3> |
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<div class="menu"> |
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He looked up into the gallery again. Some of the people were |
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<ul> |
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eating, and some fanning themselves with handkerchiefs; for the |
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</ul> |
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crowded place was very hot. There was one young man sketching |
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</div> |
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his face in a little note-book. He wondered whether it was like, |
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</div> |
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and looked on when the artist broke his pencil-point, and made |
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</div> |
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another with his knife, as any idle spectator might have done. |
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<div id="right-navigation"> |
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<div id="p-views" role="navigation" class="vectorTabs emptyPortlet" aria-labelledby="p-views-label"> |
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In the same way, when he turned his eyes towards the judge, his |
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<h3 id="p-views-label">Views</h3> |
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mind began to busy itself with the fashion of his dress, and what |
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<ul> |
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it cost, and how he put it on. There was an old fat gentleman on |
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</ul> |
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the bench, too, who had gone out, some half an hour before, and |
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</div> |
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now come back. He wondered within himself whether this man had |
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<div id="p-cactions" role="navigation" class="vectorMenu emptyPortlet" aria-labelledby="p-cactions-label"> |
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been to get his dinner, what he had had, and where he had had it; |
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<input type="checkbox" class="vectorMenuCheckbox" aria-labelledby="p-cactions-label" /> |
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and pursued this train of careless thought until some new object |
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<h3 id="p-cactions-label"><span>More</span></h3> |
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caught his eye and roused another. |
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<div class="menu"> |
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<ul> |
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Not that, all this time, his mind was, for an instant, free from |
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</ul> |
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one oppressive overwhelming sense of the grave that opened at his |
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</div> |
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feet; it was ever present to him, but in a vague and general way, |
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</div> |
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and he could not fix his thoughts upon it. Thus, even while he |
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<div id="p-search" role="search"> |
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trembled, and turned burning hot at the idea of speedy death, he |
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<h3> |
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fell to counting the iron spikes before him, and wondering how |
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<label for="searchInput">Search</label> |
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the head of one had been broken off, and whether they would mend |
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</h3> |
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it, or leave it as it was. Then, he thought of all the horrors |
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<form action="/w/index.php" id="searchform"> |
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of the gallows and the scaffold--and stopped to watch a man |
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<div id="simpleSearch"> |
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sprinkling the floor to cool it--and then went on to think again. |
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<input type="search" name="search" placeholder="Search All The Tropes" title="Search All The Tropes [f]" accesskey="f" id="searchInput"/><input type="hidden" value="Special:Search" name="title"/><input type="submit" name="fulltext" value="Search" title="Search the pages for this text" id="mw-searchButton" class="searchButton mw-fallbackSearchButton"/><input type="submit" name="go" value="Go" title="Go to a page with this exact name if it exists" id="searchButton" class="searchButton"/> </div> |
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</form> |
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At length there was a cry of silence, and a breathless look from |
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</div> |
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all towards the door. The jury returned, and passed him close. |
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</div> |
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He could glean nothing from their faces; they might as well have |
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</div> |
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been of stone. Perfect stillness ensued--not a rustle--not a |
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<div id="mw-panel"> |
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breath--Guilty. |
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<div id="p-logo" role="banner"><a class="mw-wiki-logo" href="/wiki/Main_Page" title="Visit the main page"></a></div> |
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<div class="portal" role="navigation" id="p-navigation" aria-labelledby="p-navigation-label"> |
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The building rang with a tremendous shout, and another, and |
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<h3 id="p-navigation-label">Navigation</h3> |
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another, and then it echoed loud groans, that gathered strength |
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<div class="body"> |
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as they swelled out, like angry thunder. It was a peal of joy |
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<ul> |
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from the populace outside, greeting the news that he would die on |
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<li id="n-Home-Page"><a href="/wiki/Main_Page">Home Page</a></li><li id="n-ATT-Community-Portal"><a href="/wiki/All_The_Tropes:Community_Portal">ATT Community Portal</a></li><li id="n-recentchanges"><a href="/wiki/Special:RecentChanges" title="A list of recent changes in the wiki [r]" accesskey="r">Recent changes</a></li><li id="n-randompage"><a href="/wiki/Special:Random" title="Load a random page [x]" accesskey="x">Random page</a></li><li id="n-MediaWiki-Help"><a href="/wiki/Help:Contents">MediaWiki Help</a></li><li id="n-Upload-file"><a href="/wiki/Special:Upload">Upload file</a></li> </ul> |
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Monday. |
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</div> |
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</div> |
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The noise subsided, and he was asked if he had anything to say |
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<div class="portal" role="navigation" id="p-Troper_Tools" aria-labelledby="p-Troper_Tools-label"> |
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why sentence of death should not be passed upon him. He had |
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<h3 id="p-Troper_Tools-label">Troper Tools</h3> |
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resumed his listening attitude, and looked intently at his |
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<div class="body"> |
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questioner while the demand was made; but it was twice repeated |
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<ul> |
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before he seemed to hear it, and then he only muttered that he |
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<li id="n-User-Blogs"><a href="/wiki/Special:ArticlesHome">User Blogs</a></li><li id="n-Newest-Blog-Posts"><a href="/wiki/Special:ArticleLists">Newest Blog Posts</a></li><li id="n-Write-a-Blog-Post"><a href="/wiki/Special:CreateBlogPost">Write a Blog Post</a></li><li id="n-Follow-Your-Friends"><a href="/wiki/Special:UserActivity">Follow Your Friends</a></li><li id="n-See-Friends.2FFoes"><a href="/wiki/Special:ViewRelationshipRequests">See Friends/Foes</a></li><li id="n-View-Your-Messages"><a href="/wiki/Special:UserBoard">View Your Messages</a></li><li id="n-See-Your-Gifts"><a href="/wiki/Special:ViewGifts">See Your Gifts</a></li><li id="n-Gift-a-Friend"><a href="/wiki/Special:GiveGift">Gift a Friend</a></li> </ul> |
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was an old man--an old man--and so, dropping into a whisper, was |
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</div> |
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silent again. |
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</div> |
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<div class="portal" role="navigation" id="p-Troping_Utilities" aria-labelledby="p-Troping_Utilities-label"> |
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The judge assumed the black cap, and the prisoner still stood |
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<h3 id="p-Troping_Utilities-label">Troping Utilities</h3> |
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with the same air and gesture. A woman in the gallery, uttered |
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<div class="body"> |
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some exclamation, called forth by this dread solemnity; he looked |
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<ul> |
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hastily up as if angry at the interruption, and bent forward yet |
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<li id="n-ATT-Page-Creator"><a href="/wiki/All_The_Tropes:ATT_Page_Creator">ATT Page Creator</a></li><li id="n-Trope-Workshop"><a href="/wiki/Category:Trope_Workshop">Trope Workshop</a></li><li id="n-ATT-Forums"><a href="/wiki/Special:WikiForum">ATT Forums</a></li><li id="n-ATT-Forums-.28old.29"><a href="/wiki/Forum:All_The_Tropes">ATT Forums (old)</a></li><li id="n-ATT-WebChat-.28IRC.29"><a href="/wiki/Special:WebChat">ATT WebChat (IRC)</a></li><li id="n-ATT-WebChat-.28onwiki.29"><a href="/wiki/Special:Chat">ATT WebChat (onwiki)</a></li><li id="n-Troper-Userboxes"><a href="/wiki/All_The_Tropes:Userboxes">Troper Userboxes</a></li><li id="n-Mechanics-of-Writing"><a href="/wiki/Mechanics_of_Writing">Mechanics of Writing</a></li> </ul> |
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more attentively. The address was solemn and impressive; the |
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</div> |
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sentence fearful to hear. But he stood, like a marble figure, |
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</div> |
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without the motion of a nerve. His haggard face was still thrust |
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<div class="portal" role="navigation" id="p-Troper_Social_Networks" aria-labelledby="p-Troper_Social_Networks-label"> |
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forward, his under-jaw hanging down, and his eyes staring out |
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<h3 id="p-Troper_Social_Networks-label">Troper Social Networks</h3> |
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before him, when the jailer put his hand upon his arm, and |
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<div class="body"> |
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beckoned him away. He gazed stupidly about him for an instant, |
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<ul> |
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and obeyed. |
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<li id="n-ATT-Twitter"><a href="https://twitter.com/ATTropes" rel="nofollow">ATT Twitter</a></li><li id="n-ATT-subreddit"><a href="http://www.reddit.com/r/AllTheTropes/" rel="nofollow">ATT subreddit</a></li> </ul> |
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</div> |
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They led him through a paved room under the court, where some |
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</div> |
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prisoners were waiting till their turns came, and others were |
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<div class="portal" role="navigation" id="p-tb" aria-labelledby="p-tb-label"> |
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talking to their friends, who crowded round a grate which looked |
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<h3 id="p-tb-label">Tools</h3> |
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into the open yard. There was nobody there to speak to _him_; but, |
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<div class="body"> |
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as he passed, the prisoners fell back to render him more visible |
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<ul> |
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to the people who were clinging to the bars: and they assailed |
|||
<li id="t-specialpages"><a href="/wiki/Special:SpecialPages" title="A list of all special pages [q]" accesskey="q">Special pages</a></li><li id="t-print"><a href="/w/index.php?title=Special:Badtitle&action=raw&printable=yes" rel="alternate" title="Printable version of this page [p]" accesskey="p">Printable version</a></li><li id="t-urlshortener"><a href="/w/index.php?title=Special:UrlShortener&url=https%3A%2F%2Fallthetropes.org%2Fw%2Findex.php%3Ftitle%3DSpecial%3ABadtitle%26action%3Draw">Get shortened URL</a></li> </ul> |
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him with opprobrious names, and screeched and hissed. He shook |
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</div> |
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his fist, and would have spat upon them; but his conductors |
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</div> |
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hurried him on, through a gloomy passage lighted by a few dim |
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</div> |
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lamps, into the interior of the prison. |
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</div> |
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<div id="footer" role="contentinfo"> |
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Here, he was searched, that he might not have about him the means |
|||
<ul id="footer-places"> |
|||
of anticipating the law; this ceremony performed, they led him to |
|||
<li id="footer-places-privacy"><a href="//meta.miraheze.org/wiki/Privacy_Policy" class="extiw" title="m:Privacy Policy">Privacy policy</a></li> |
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one of the condemned cells, and left him there--alone. |
|||
<li id="footer-places-about"><a href="/wiki/All_The_Tropes:About" title="All The Tropes:About">About All The Tropes</a></li> |
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<li id="footer-places-disclaimer"><a href="/wiki/All_The_Tropes:General_disclaimer" title="All The Tropes:General disclaimer">Disclaimers</a></li> |
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He sat down on a stone bench opposite the door, which served for |
|||
<li id="footer-places-termsofservice"><a href="//meta.miraheze.org/wiki/Terms_of_Use" class="extiw" title="m:Terms of Use">Terms of Use</a></li> |
|||
seat and bedstead; and casting his blood-shot eyes upon the |
|||
<li id="footer-places-mobileview"><a href="https://allthetropes.org/w/index.php?title=Special:Badtitle&action=raw&mobileaction=toggle_view_mobile{{Dead link}}" class="noprint stopMobileRedirectToggle">Mobile view</a></li> |
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ground, tried to collect his thoughts. After awhile, he began to |
|||
</ul> |
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remember a few disjointed fragments of what the judge had said: |
|||
<ul id="footer-icons" class="noprint"> |
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though it had seemed to him, at the time, that he could not hear |
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a word. These gradually fell into their proper places, and by |
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degrees suggested more: so that in a little time he had the |
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whole, almost as it was delivered. To be hanged by the neck, |
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till he was dead--that was the end. To be hanged by the neck |
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till he was dead. |
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<div style="clear: both;"></div> |
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</div> |
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As it came on very dark, he began to think of all the men he had |
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known who had died upon the scaffold; some of them through his |
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<script type="text/javascript"> |
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means. They rose up, in such quick succession, that he could |
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hardly count them. He had seen some of them die,--and had joked |
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too, because they died with prayers upon their lips. With what a |
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_paq.push(["enableLinkTracking"]); |
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rattling noise the drop went down; and how suddenly they changed, |
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from strong and vigorous men to dangling heaps of clothes! |
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Some of them might have inhabited that very cell--sat upon that |
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very spot. It was very dark; why didn't they bring a light? The |
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cell had been built for many years. Scores of men must have |
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passed their last hours there. It was like sitting in a vault |
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strewn with dead bodies--the cap, the noose, the pinioned arms, |
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the faces that he knew, even beneath that hideous veil.--Light, |
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light! |
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At length, when his hands were raw with beating against the heavy |
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g.defer=true; g.async=true; g.src=u+"piwik.js"; s.parentNode.insertBefore(g,s); |
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door and walls, two men appeared: one bearing a candle, which he |
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thrust into an iron candlestick fixed against the wall: the |
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other dragging in a mattress on which to pass the night; for the |
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prisoner was to be left alone no more. |
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Then came the night--dark, dismal, silent night. Other watchers |
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are glad to hear this church-clock strike, for they tell of life |
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</body> |
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and coming day. To him they brought despair. The boom of every |
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</html> |
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iron bell came laden with the one, deep, hollow sound--Death. |
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What availed the noise and bustle of cheerful morning, which |
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penetrated even there, to him? It was another form of knell, |
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with mockery added to the warning. |
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The day passed off. Day? There was no day; it was gone as soon |
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as come--and night came on again; night so long, and yet so |
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short; long in its dreadful silence, and short in its fleeting |
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hours. At one time he raved and blasphemed; and at another |
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howled and tore his hair. Venerable men of his own persuasion |
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had come to pray beside him, but he had driven them away with |
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curses. They renewed their charitable efforts, and he beat them |
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off. |
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Saturday night. He had only one night more to live. And as he |
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thought of this, the day broke--Sunday. |
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It was not until the night of this last awful day, that a |
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withering sense of his helpless, desperate state came in its full |
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intensity upon his blighted soul; not that he had ever held any |
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defined or positive hope of mercy, but that he had never been |
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able to consider more than the dim probability of dying so soon. |
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He had spoken little to either of the two men, who relieved each |
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other in their attendance upon him; and they, for their parts, |
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made no effort to rouse his attention. He had sat there, awake, |
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but dreaming. Now, he started up, every minute, and with gasping |
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mouth and burning skin, hurried to and fro, in such a paroxysm of |
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fear and wrath that even they--used to such sights--recoiled from |
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him with horror. He grew so terrible, at last, in all the |
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tortures of his evil conscience, that one man could not bear to |
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sit there, eyeing him alone; and so the two kept watch together. |
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He cowered down upon his stone bed, and thought of the past. He |
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had been wounded with some missiles from the crowd on the day of |
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his capture, and his head was bandaged with a linen cloth. His |
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red hair hung down upon his bloodless face; his beard was torn, |
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and twisted into knots; his eyes shone with a terrible light; his |
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unwashed flesh crackled with the fever that burnt him up. |
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Eight--nine--then. If it was not a trick to frighten him, and |
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those were the real hours treading on each other's heels, where |
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would he be, when they came round again! Eleven! Another |
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struck, before the voice of the previous hour had ceased to |
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vibrate. At eight, he would be the only mourner in his own |
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funeral train; at eleven-- |
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Those dreadful walls of Newgate, which have hidden so much misery |
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and such unspeakable anguish, not only from the eyes, but, too |
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often, and too long, from the thoughts, of men, never held so |
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dread a spectacle as that. The few who lingered as they passed, |
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and wondered what the man was doing who was to be hanged |
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to-morrow, would have slept but ill that night, if they could |
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have seen him. |
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From early in the evening until nearly midnight, little groups of |
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two and three presented themselves at the lodge-gate, and |
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inquired, with anxious faces, whether any reprieve had been |
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received. These being answered in the negative, communicated the |
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welcome intelligence to clusters in the street, who pointed out |
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to one another the door from which he must come out, and showed |
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where the scaffold would be built, and, walking with unwilling |
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steps away, turned back to conjure up the scene. By degrees they |
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fell off, one by one; and, for an hour, in the dead of night, the |
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street was left to solitude and darkness. |
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The space before the prison was cleared, and a few strong |
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barriers, painted black, had been already thrown across the road |
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to break the pressure of the expected crowd, when Mr. Brownlow |
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and Oliver appeared at the wicket, and presented an order of |
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admission to the prisoner, signed by one of the sheriffs. They |
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were immediately admitted into the lodge. |
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'Is the young gentleman to come too, sir?' said the man whose |
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duty it was to conduct them. 'It's not a sight for children, |
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sir.' |
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'It is not indeed, my friend,' rejoined Mr. Brownlow; 'but my |
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business with this man is intimately connected with him; and as |
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this child has seen him in the full career of his success and |
|||
villainy, I think it as well--even at the cost of some pain and |
|||
fear--that he should see him now.' |
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These few words had been said apart, so as to be inaudible to |
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Oliver. The man touched his hat; and glancing at Oliver with |
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some curiousity, opened another gate, opposite to that by which |
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they had entered, and led them on, through dark and winding ways, |
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towards the cells. |
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'This,' said the man, stopping in a gloomy passage where a couple |
|||
of workmen were making some preparations in profound |
|||
silence--'this is the place he passes through. If you step this |
|||
way, you can see the door he goes out at.' |
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He led them into a stone kitchen, fitted with coppers for |
|||
dressing the prison food, and pointed to a door. There was an |
|||
open grating above it, through which came the sound of men's |
|||
voices, mingled with the noise of hammering, and the throwing |
|||
down of boards. There were putting up the scaffold. |
|||
From this place, they passed through several strong gates, opened |
|||
by other turnkeys from the inner side; and, having entered an |
|||
open yard, ascended a flight of narrow steps, and came into a |
|||
passage with a row of strong doors on the left hand. Motioning |
|||
them to remain where they were, the turnkey knocked at one of |
|||
these with his bunch of keys. The two attendants, after a little |
|||
whispering, came out into the passage, stretching themselves as |
|||
if glad of the temporary relief, and motioned the visitors to |
|||
follow the jailer into the cell. They did so. |
|||
The condemned criminal was seated on his bed, rocking himself |
|||
from side to side, with a countenance more like that of a snared |
|||
beast than the face of a man. His mind was evidently wandering |
|||
to his old life, for he continued to mutter, without appearing |
|||
conscious of their presence otherwise than as a part of his |
|||
vision. |
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'Good boy, Charley--well done--' he mumbled. 'Oliver, too, ha! |
|||
ha! ha! Oliver too--quite the gentleman now--quite the--take |
|||
that boy away to bed!' |
|||
The jailer took the disengaged hand of Oliver; and, whispering |
|||
him not to be alarmed, looked on without speaking. |
|||
'Take him away to bed!' cried Fagin. 'Do you hear me, some of |
|||
you? He has been the--the--somehow the cause of all this. It's |
|||
worth the money to bring him up to it--Bolter's throat, Bill; |
|||
never mind the girl--Bolter's throat as deep as you can cut. Saw |
|||
his head off!' |
|||
'Fagin,' said the jailer. |
|||
'That's me!' cried the Jew, falling instantly, into the attitude |
|||
of listening he had assumed upon his trial. 'An old man, my |
|||
Lord; a very old, old man!' |
|||
'Here,' said the turnkey, laying his hand upon his breast to keep |
|||
him down. 'Here's somebody wants to see you, to ask you some |
|||
questions, I suppose. Fagin, Fagin! Are you a man?' |
|||
'I shan't be one long,' he replied, looking up with a face |
|||
retaining no human expression but rage and terror. 'Strike them |
|||
all dead! What right have they to butcher me?' |
|||
As he spoke he caught sight of Oliver and Mr. Brownlow. Shrinking |
|||
to the furthest corner of the seat, he demanded to know what they |
|||
wanted there. |
|||
'Steady,' said the turnkey, still holding him down. 'Now, sir, |
|||
tell him what you want. Quick, if you please, for he grows worse |
|||
as the time gets on.' |
|||
'You have some papers,' said Mr. Brownlow advancing, 'which were |
|||
placed in your hands, for better security, by a man called |
|||
Monks.' |
|||
'It's all a lie together,' replied Fagin. 'I haven't one--not |
|||
one.' |
|||
'For the love of God,' said Mr. Brownlow solemnly, 'do not say |
|||
that now, upon the very verge of death; but tell me where they |
|||
are. You know that Sikes is dead; that Monks has confessed; that |
|||
there is no hope of any further gain. Where are those papers?' |
|||
'Oliver,' cried Fagin, beckoning to him. 'Here, here! Let me |
|||
whisper to you.' |
|||
'I am not afraid,' said Oliver in a low voice, as he relinquished |
|||
Mr. Brownlow's hand. |
|||
'The papers,' said Fagin, drawing Oliver towards him, 'are in a |
|||
canvas bag, in a hole a little way up the chimney in the top |
|||
front-room. I want to talk to you, my dear. I want to talk to |
|||
you.' |
|||
'Yes, yes,' returned Oliver. 'Let me say a prayer. Do! Let me |
|||
say one prayer. Say only one, upon your knees, with me, and we |
|||
will talk till morning.' |
|||
'Outside, outside,' replied Fagin, pushing the boy before him |
|||
towards the door, and looking vacantly over his head. 'Say I've |
|||
gone to sleep--they'll believe you. You can get me out, if you |
|||
take me so. Now then, now then!' |
|||
'Oh! God forgive this wretched man!' cried the boy with a burst |
|||
of tears. |
|||
'That's right, that's right,' said Fagin. 'That'll help us on. |
|||
This door first. If I shake and tremble, as we pass the gallows, |
|||
don't you mind, but hurry on. Now, now, now!' |
|||
'Have you nothing else to ask him, sir?' inquired the turnkey. |
|||
'No other question,' replied Mr. Brownlow. 'If I hoped we could |
|||
recall him to a sense of his position--' |
|||
'Nothing will do that, sir,' replied the man, shaking his head. |
|||
'You had better leave him.' |
|||
The door of the cell opened, and the attendants returned. |
|||
'Press on, press on,' cried Fagin. 'Softly, but not so slow. |
|||
Faster, faster!' |
|||
The men laid hands upon him, and disengaging Oliver from his |
|||
grasp, held him back. He struggled with the power of |
|||
desperation, for an instant; and then sent up cry upon cry that |
|||
penetrated even those massive walls, and rang in their ears until |
|||
they reached the open yard. |
|||
It was some time before they left the prison. Oliver nearly |
|||
swooned after this frightful scene, and was so weak that for an |
|||
hour or more, he had not the strength to walk. |
|||
Day was dawning when they again emerged. A great multitude had |
|||
already assembled; the windows were filled with people, smoking |
|||
and playing cards to beguile the time; the crowd were pushing, |
|||
quarrelling, joking. Everything told of life and animation, but |
|||
one dark cluster of objects in the centre of all--the black stage, |
|||
the cross-beam, the rope, and all the hideous apparatus of death. |
|||
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