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Updated: June 29, 2025
I am the girl that dragged little Oliver back to old Fagin's on the night he went out from the house in Pentonville. 'You! said Rose Maylie. 'I, lady! replied the girl.
There, doubtless, he had received Fagin's report, with the papers whatever they were, and then returned to Elmhurst, determined to force his will with the girl. What had happened then I knew well, for I had been part of it. What a pity it was I had failed to kill the fellow, instead of leaving him unconscious. The papers! Perhaps they were in the coat also.
In due course, they arrived at Fagin's abode, where they found Toby Crackit and Mr. Chitling intent upon their fifteenth game at cribbage, which it is scarcely necessary to say the latter gentleman lost, and with it, his fifteenth and last sixpence: much to the amusement of his young friends. Mr.
Fagin's request, the Artful untied this bundle, which was of large size, and formed of an old table-cloth; and handed the articles it contained, one by one, to Charley Bates: who placed them on the table, with various encomiums on their rarity and excellence.
In the upper hall I glanced below, but the bodies of the dead had been removed. Farrell stood bareheaded, a great figure on his short legs. "This has been a fine night's work," he said steadily, "the last of Fagin's gang." "Dead?" "Ay, and Grant with him begging your pardon, mistress." Her eyes glanced from his face into mine, and my hand-clasp tightened.
Here, Bill, wrench the shutter open. He's game enough now, I'll engage. I've seen older hands of his age took the same way, for a minute or two, on a cold night. Sikes, invoking terrific imprecations upon Fagin's head for sending Oliver on such an errand, plied the crowbar vigorously, but with little noise.
Persuaded, in part, by these representations, but overborne in a much greater degree by his fear of Fagin, Mr. Bolter at length consented, with a very bad grace, to undertake the expedition. By Fagin's directions, he immediately substituted for his own attire, a waggoner's frock, velveteen breeches, and leather leggings: all of which articles the Jew had at hand.
Weak with recent illness, stupefied by the blows and the suddenness of the attack, terrified by the brutality of the man who was none other than Bill Sikes, the roughest of all Fagin's pupils what could one poor child do? Darkness had set in; it was a low neighbourhood; resistance was useless.
"You sent for me, sir," she said coldly. "May I ask for what purpose?" Even Fagin's cool insolence was unable to withstand unmoved her beauty and her calmness of demeanor. Apparently he had never met her before, for, with face redder than ever, he got to his feet, half bowing, and stammering slightly. "My name is Fagin, Mistress," he said, striving to retain his accustomed roughness.
Claypole, otherwise Bolter, when, by virtue of the compact entered into between them, he had removed next day to Fagin's house. ''Cod, I thought as much last night! 'Every man's his own friend, my dear, replied Fagin, with his most insinuating grin. 'He hasn't as good a one as himself anywhere. 'Except sometimes, replied Morris Bolter, assuming the air of a man of the world.
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