“He was called Smith and was twelve years old. Which, in itself, was a marvel; for it seemed as if the smallpox, the consumption, the brain-fever, jail-fever and even the hangman’s rope had given him a wide berth for fear of catching something.”
“Only the sanctimonious birds that perched on the church’s dome ever saw Smith’s progress entire, and as their beady eyes followed him, the chattered savagely, ‘Pick-pocket! Pick-pocket! Jug him! Jug-jug-jug him!’ as if they’d been appointed by the Town to save it from such as Smith.”
″‘Then show us a P, Mister Jones, and then show us a Q, and I’ll try to mind ‘em!’ For the thought had occurred to Smith that two letters would be a fair start to the day’s work of learning to read.”
“With his hands pressed to his chest and his eyes still streaming with forced tears, he ran towards the nestling of lanes about the great cathedral. Softhearted ladies stared as he passed, moved by the sight of the weeping urchin. Then his eyes dried up, his nose recovered- and his grand determination flared anew. He would learn to read!”
″‘Ain’t you got no feelings for yore trade?’ asked Smith earnestly. ‘Don’t you want it to prosper with more readers?’
‘You’re a wicked little thief!’ said the bookseller, now jerking to the left.
‘Only because I’m ignorant!‘”
“My blindness. Because I shall never clap eyes on that murderer. Because, till the day I die, I’ll never know what such a monster looks like. D’you understand me, Smith? D’you understand that, to me, devils and angels are all one?”