Chapter 49 Chapter Forty-eight

(Sikes flees.) Of all the misdeeds that take place under the cover of darkness in the great city of London after nightfall, this is the worst.Of all the horrors that smelt blood in the morning air, this was the most disgusting and tragic. The sun—a bright sun that not only brings light to human beings, but also brings new life, hope and vigor—shows brilliantly over this densely populated city, and the sun shines through the colorful stained glass and paper without discrimination. Battered panes, piercing church domes and decaying chinks.Sunlight illuminated the room where the murdered woman lay across.It really does light up.Sikes had vainly tried to keep the light out of the window, but the sun would still come in.If the sight was appalling even in the gloom of the morning, what was it now, when everything was covered with brilliant daylight!

He was motionless, not even daring to move.The victim uttered a groan and moved his hand.With new terror in his head, he hit her again, and another.At one point he threw a blanket over the body, but when he thought of those eyes, he imagined them turning towards him, and instead of seeing them staring straight up, he seemed to be looking at the reflection of the pool of blood on the ceiling. Swaying and dancing in the sun, it was even worse.He tore the blanket off again.The body lay there--nothing but blood and flesh, that's all--but what kind of flesh was that, and what blood! He struck a match, lit the stove, and threw the stick in it.Even the burning hair on the tip of the stick, curled up in a thin speck of ash, which was picked up by the breeze and fluttered up the chimney, terrified him, in spite of his stature. strong.He held the murder weapon till it broke, and then threw it on the coals, where it burned slowly to ashes.He washed his hands and wiped his clothes clean. There were a few spots of blood on the clothes that could not be wiped off, so he cut them off and burned them.Why is there blood all over the room?Even the dog's paws were covered in blood.

All this time, not once did he turn his back on the corpse, yes, not even for a moment.When everything was in order, he withdrew to the door, holding the dog by the hand, lest the brute's paws should again be stained with blood and bring fresh evidence into the street.He closed and locked the door softly, took the key, and left the house. He walked across the road and looked up at the window, making sure that nothing could be seen outside.The curtains hung motionless, and she would have drawn them to lighten the room, but she could no longer see the light.The body lay almost horizontally under the curtain.He knew this.God, how the sun is pouring on that place.

The glance was only for a split second.Thankfully, I managed to get out of that room.He whistled at the dog and walked away quickly. He walked past Ellington and strode up the slope near Highgate Hill where the Whittington Monument stood, and on to Highgate Hill.He had no idea, had no idea where to go--no sooner had he started down the hill than he cut right again and took the path through the fields and around the Cain Forest to Hampstead Heath.He waded through the depression next to the Health Valley, climbed the opposite dune, crossed the road connecting the two villages of Hampstead and Highgate, walked along the remaining part of the wasteland to the fields in the northern suburbs, and walked together at the edge of the field. Lie down under the fence and fell asleep.

In a little while he got up again, and started on his way--not into the country, but along the road back to London--and back again--and on the other side toward the district he had gone--sometimes at Wandering around in the field, sometimes laying down by the ditch to rest, sometimes jumping up, lying down in another place, and then running around again. Where can I get some food and drink, which is convenient and not too crowded?Hunton.It was a good place, not far from the road, and not very popular.He decided to go thither—sometimes galloping, sometimes, with a strange rebellion, lingering like a snail, or stopping to tap lazily on the fence with his cane.But when he got there, everyone he met—even the children standing at the door—seemed to look at him suspiciously.He had to turn around, not having the guts to buy something to eat and drink, even though he hadn't eaten for hours.Once again he was wandering the moor, not knowing where to go.

After wandering for an unknown number of miles, he returned to his old place. The morning and noon had passed, and the day was coming to an end. He was still wandering here and there, uphill and downhill, circle after circle, always wandering in the same place.In the end, he pulled his legs and walked in the direction of Highfield. It was already nine o'clock at night, and the village was quiet. The man was exhausted and walked down the hill next to the church.Dogs also walk with a limp from little such training.They staggered down the narrow street and slipped into a small tavern, where the dim lights had drawn them.There was a fire burning in the shop, and some peasants were drinking wine around the fire.They made room for the stranger, but he sat down in the farthest corner and ate and drank alone, or rather with his dog, throwing a little to the brute now and then. food.

The few gathered together talked about the nearby land and farmers.Enough talking about these topics, and turned to talking about the age of some old man who was buried last Sunday.The young people present thought he was very old, but some old men claimed that he was still young--an old man with white hair said that the deceased was no older than himself--if he took good care of him, he would at least be okay Ten to fifteen years—if cared for. There is nothing fascinating or alarming about this topic.The robber paid his bill and sat unnoticed in a corner, almost falling asleep.At this moment, the noise of an uninvited guest entering the door somewhat drove away his drowsiness.

A gag-loving peddler and charlatan, with a chest on his back, traveled around the country selling whetstones, sharpening belts, razors, face wash, harness binders, cures for dogs and horses medicines, cheap perfumes, cosmetics and so on.As soon as he entered the store, he chatted and laughed with a few countrymen, and made fun of each other harmlessly. When he was full, he came to push the boat again, opened the treasure chest, and started business while joking. "What's that? Is it delicious, Harry?" asked a countryman, smiling, pointing to some pastry-shaped objects in the corner of the box.

"Well," said the chap, picking up a piece, "that's one of those good-value synthetic soaps that works great for all kinds of silks, satins, linens, muslins, cottons, crepes, and woolens. Spots, rust, stains, mildew on blankets, blends, muslin, wool. Any mark, whether beer, wine, fruit, water, color, or asphalt This proven, good-value synthetic soap, wipes it off and it's all gone. If a lady has a stain on her reputation, just swallow a piece and it'll be cured instantly—it's poison. If Any gentleman who wants to prove his innocence needs only to swallow a small piece, and his reputation will be no problem--for it is almost as desirable as a pistol bullet, and much worse in taste, and the result is of course a big reputation .a penny a piece. So many good things for a penny a piece.”

There were two buyers on the spot, and more listeners were obviously tempted.Seeing this, the peddler shouted even more vigorously. "As soon as this thing was made, it was sold out immediately," said the guy. "Now there are fourteen water mills, six steam engines, and a set of voltaic batteries. They have been producing at full capacity, but they still cannot be supplied. Those people can work hard If you are exhausted, give the widow a pension immediately, twenty pounds a year for a child, fifty pounds for twins. One penny a piece. The same is true for two halfpenny, and four quarterpenny are more welcome. One penny a piece. It is designed to remove all kinds of wine stains, fruit stains, beer stains, water stains, paint, asphalt, mud, blood. There is a mark on the hat of a gentleman here. He has not had time to buy me a drink. Light beer, I've wiped it off."

"Hey!" cried Sikes, jumping up, "give me back my hat." "Sir, you haven't had time to come to this side of the room to get your hat," replied the peddler, winking at the crowd, "and I can wipe it clean. Attention, gentlemen, this gentleman's hat is There's a dark stain, no bigger than a shilling, but thicker than a half-crown. Whether it's wine, fruit, water, paint, pitch, mud, or blood—" The man could go no further, for Sikes uttered a harsh oath, overturned the table, snatched his hat, and rushed out of the hotel. The abnormal state of mind and the indecision in his heart were unacceptable to the murderer, and he had been tormenting him for a whole day.At this time, he realized that no one was chasing after him, and people at most regarded him as a drunken man holding his anger.He turned and left town.There was a mail coach in the street, and he passed it, avoiding the light, and recognized it as a stage coach from London, which was parked in front of the little post office.He could almost guess what would happen next, but he still walked across the road and listened intently. The escort staff stood at the door, waiting for the mailbag. A man dressed like a gamekeeper stepped forward, and the escort handed him a basket that had been placed on the sidewalk. "This is for your family," said the escort. "Hey, can the people inside be quicker, please? This damn postbag was not finished the night before, so it won't work, you don't know." "Bane, what's the news in town?" the gamekeeper asked as he stepped back from the window panel, so that it would be easier to appreciate the horses. "No, as far as I know there's no news," replied the escort, putting on his gloves. "The price of food has gone up a little. I've heard that there's been a murder in the Spedafino area, too, but I don't quite believe it. " "Oh, it's true," said a gentleman looking out of the window, "a terrible murder." "Is that so, sir?" asked the escort, touching his hat. "Excuse me, sir. Is it a man or a woman?" "A woman," replied the gentleman, "it is estimated—" "Come on, Bane," the driver yelled impatiently. "Damn the mailbag," the escort yelled, "the people in it are asleep, aren't they?" "Coming!" the post office clerk ran out and shouted. "Come on," the escort muttered, "ah, like that young lady who said she was going to fall in love with me soon, but I just don't know when to cash in. All right, drive. Okay—mile!" A few cheery notes blared from the horn of the stagecoach, and the car drove away. Sikes remained standing in the street, evidently indifferent to what he had just heard.He just didn't know where to go, nothing irritated him more than that.At last he turned back again and took the road from Highfield to St Albans. He walked forward sullenly.But when he left the town behind on the empty, dark road, a feeling of dread crept over him, and he shivered from inside to outside.Every object before my eyes, real or shadow, still or moving, looked like something terrible.Yet these fears were nothing compared to the shadow that had been with him since dawn.In the haze, he could distinguish its shadow, tell the most subtle features, and remember how it walked with a stiff body and a stern face.He could hear its clothes rustling against the leaves, and every breeze brought its last low cry.If he stops, the shadow also stops.If he gallops and gallops, the shadow follows him--it doesn't run--it would be better if it ran, but like a body endowed with only animate mechanisms, driven by a dark wind that neither increases nor ceases Push slowly behind. He turned his heart around a few times, determined to drive this phantom away, even though it would stare at him desperately, but he couldn't help feeling horrified, and even his blood froze: because the phantom also turned around with him, and then ran behind.He'd been facing it all morning, and now it was right behind him—inseparable.If he leaned his back against the slope, he could feel it hanging over his head, its outline clearly reflected in the cold night sky.He lay on his back on the road—his back against the road, and it stood straight on his head, silent and motionless—a living tombstone, engraved with an epitaph written in blood. No one should say that the murderer can get away with it, God has no eyes.Surviving a long minute in fear like this is not much different from dying hundreds of times. In the fields he passed was a hut that provided shelter for the night.There were three tall poplar trees growing in front of the hut, and it was pitch black inside, and the night wind blew across the treetops with a mournful weeping sound.Before dawn, he couldn't go anymore.He lay upright against the base of the wall—a new torment awaited. At this time, a phantom appeared in front of him, as stubborn as the one he avoided, but more terrifying.In the darkness, a pair of wide-open eyes appeared, so dim and dull, he would rather look at them than let them enter his imagination.The eyes themselves were shining, but not illuminating anything.There are only two eyes, but they are everywhere.If he closes his eyes, that room will appear in his mind, and everything is familiar—indeed, if he goes through the things in the room from memory, there may be a few things that he can’t remember—— One by one, all in their old places.The body was still where it was, with the same eyes as he had seen when he sneaked away.He jumped up and rushed into the field outside the house.The shadow followed him again.He went into the cabin again and ducked into the corner.Before he could lie down, those eyes appeared again. He stayed in this place, only he knew how terrified he was, his hands and feet were shaking, and cold sweat gushed out from every pore.Suddenly, there was a noise in the evening wind, shouts and shouts resounded in the distance, which was intertwined with panic and consternation.It was a great comfort to him to hear human voices, even if they were really ominous, in this bleak and desolate place.When the danger was imminent, he regained his strength and spirit. He jumped up suddenly and rushed into the wilderness outside the door. The vast sky seemed to be on fire.A shower of sparks swirled high above the sky, lit up the sky for miles around, and drove clouds of smoke toward where he stood.New voices joined the shout, louder.He could hear the shouts of "Fire!" mixed with the sound of alarm bells ringing, weights collapsing, and pillars of fire bursting.Flames surrounded a new obstacle, and flames shot up like arrows, as if they had added food.As he watched from a distance, the commotion grew louder, and there were people--men and women--flames, and people coming and going.The scene seemed to him a new life.He galloped--straight, head-on--rushed through brambles, leaped fences and fences, as mad as his dog, who was running before him, barking loudly. . He rushed to the scene.Disheveled figures were running wildly to and fro, some were trying to pull frightened horses out of their stables, others were driving cattle out of yards and haylofts, and still others were burning to death under flying sparks. The danger of red beams rolling down, moving things out of burning stakes and pillars.Where there were doors and windows an hour ago, the sun opened up, spewing out billows of fire, and the walls shook and collapsed in the burning fire well.Lead and iron melted, and white-hot liquids poured onto the ground.Women and children screamed, and men emboldened each other with loud yells and cheers.The clang of the fire pump, the splash of the water, hissing and splashing on the hot planks, formed a terrible din.He also yelled until he became hoarse.Freed from memory and from himself, he plunged headlong into the densest crowd. This night, he rushed here and there, now pumping water with the fire pump, now rushing through the smoke and fire, never letting himself out of the place where the sound and the crowd were thickest.He ran up and down, climbed ladders, climbed roofs, crossed floors, regardless of the trembling floors under his weight, braved the fallen bricks, and was everywhere where the fire spread. .However, he was really blessed with a life of ghosts and gods. He didn't get a scratch on his body, he didn't touch any pressure, he didn't feel tired, and his mind was empty, until another dawn came, and only wisps of smoke remained on the fire. and dark ruins. The frenzied excitement passed, and the terrible awareness returned with tenfold force that he knew he had committed a great crime.He looked around suspiciously, for people were talking in small groups, and he feared that he might be the subject of conversation.He made a meaningful gesture with his finger, and the dog understood.They stole away.He walked past an engine, and a few people were sitting there, and they beckoned him to have something to eat.He ate some bread and meat indiscriminately, and just after taking a sip of beer, he heard some firefighters from London discussing the extremely murderous case. "He's been told he's fled to Birmingham," said one of them. "They'll catch him all the same. The detectives are on their way, and the warrants will be out all over the country by to-morrow night." He hurried away and didn't stop until he almost fell to the ground.Then he lay down on a path, and slept a long, fitful and restless sleep.Again he rose and wandered, hesitating, not knowing where to go, and fearing another lonely night. Suddenly, desperately, he decided to go back to London. "Anyway, there's always somebody to talk to," he thought, "and another croaking hiding-place. I've left so much trail in the country that they'd never think of going back to London to catch me. Why shouldn't I Hide away for a week, and then get some cash out of Fagin and go off to France? Damn it, I'm giving it a shot." Driven by this idea, he started to act without delay, chose the path with the least number of pedestrians, and set out to walk back. destination. Dogs, however, are a problem.If his appearance and characteristics have been sent to various places, one of them must not be missed, that is, the dog is also missing, and it is probably with him.This could have led to his arrest while walking down the street.He decided to drown the dog.He walked forward, looking around for a pond.He picked up a large stone and tied it to the handkerchief as he went. While these preparations were going on, the beast looked up into his master's face.I don't know if it realized that the omen was not good by instinct, or because the robber squinted at it more fiercely than usual, it walked behind dodgingly, and the distance was farther than usual. cringe.The owner stopped by a pool and called it back, but it didn't go away at all. "Hear me calling you? Come here!" cried Sikes. Driven by habit, Fu Sheng stepped forward.But when Sikes bent down and put the handkerchief around its neck, it whined and jumped away. "Come back!" said the robber. The dog wagged its tail but didn't move.Sikes made a looper and called him again. The dog took a few steps forward, then backed away, hesitated for a moment, then turned around and ran away as fast as possible. The man whistled again and again, and sat and waited, expecting the dog to return, but the dog never appeared again, and he had to start his journey again.