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OLIVER TWIST.
197
CHAPTER XLVI.
THE FLIGHT OF SIKES.
Of all bad deeds that under cover of the darkness had been committed within wide London's bounds since night hung over it, that was the worst. Of all the horrors that rose with an ill scent upon the morning air, that was the foulest and most cruel.
The sun,—the bright sun, that brings back not light alone, but new life and hope and freshness to man—burst upon the crouded city in clear and radiant glory. Through costly-coloured glass and paper-mended window, through cathedral dome and rotten crevice, it shed its equal ray. It lighted up the room where the murdered woman lay. It did. He tried to shut it out, but it would stream in. If the sight had been a ghastly one in the dull morn-
