He was so weak that he could scarcely
move. Trembling from cold and exhaustion he made an effort to stand
upright, but fell back, groaning with pain. Then a creeping stupor came
over him, warning him that if he lay there he must surely die. So he got
upon his feet, and stumbling on, dizzy and half unconscious, drew near to
the very house which caused him to shudder with horror at the memory of
last night's dreadful scene.
Within, in the kitchen all the servants were gathered round the fire
discussing the attempted burglary. While Mr. Giles, the butler, was giving
his version of the affair, there came a timid knock. They opened the door
cautiously and beheld poor little Oliver Twist, speechless and exhausted,
who raised his heavy eyes and mutely solicited their compassion. Instantly
there was an outcry, and Oliver was seized by one leg and one arm, lugged
into the hall, and laid on the floor. "Here he is!" bawled Giles up the
staircase; "here's one of the thieves, ma'am! Here's a thief, miss!
Wounded, miss. I shot him, miss; and Brittles held the light!" There was
great confusion then, all the servants talking at once, but the sound of a
sweet voice from above quelled the commotion.
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