Chapter 127

Charles Dickens Best Novels 2444 words 2020-12-18 07:44:30

Chapter

47

It was nearly two hours before day-break; that time which in the autumn of the year, may be truly called the dead of night; when the streets are silent and deserted; when even sounds appear to slumber, and profligacy and riot have staggered home to dream; it was at this still and silent hour, that Fagin sat watching in his old lair, with face so distorted and pale, and eyes so red and blood-shot, that he looked less like a man, than like some hideous phantom, moist from the grave, and worried by an evil spirit.

He sat crouching over a cold hearth, wrapped in an old torn coverlet, with his face turned towards a wasting candle that stood upon a table by his side. His right hand was raised to his lips, and as, absorbed in thought, he hit his long black nails, he disclosed among his to……

Previous Next
You can use your left and right arrow keys to move to last or next episode.
Leave a comment Comment

Waiting for the first comment……

Please to leave a comment.

Leave a comment
0/300
  • Add
  • Table of contents
  • Display options
  • Previous
  • Next

Navigate with selected cookies

Dear Reader, we use the permissions associated with cookies to keep our website running smoothly and to provide you with personalized content that better meets your needs and ensure the best reading experience. At any time, you can change your permissions for the cookie settings below.

If you would like to learn more about our Cookie, you can click on Privacy Policy.