“The reason of all this,” replied Fagin. “If he ”⁠—he pointed with his skinny forefinger up the stairs⁠—“is so hard with you (he’s a brute, Nance, a brute-beast), why don’t you⁠—”

“Well?” said the girl, as Fagin paused, with his mouth almost touching her ear, and his eyes looking into hers.

“No matter just now. We’ll talk of this again. You have a friend in me, Nance; a staunch friend. I have the means at hand, quiet and close. If you want revenge on those that treat you like a dog⁠—like a dog! worse than his dog, for he humours him sometimes⁠—come to me. I say, come to me. He is the mere hound of a day, but you know me of old, Nance.”

“I know you well,” replied the girl, without manifesting the least emotion. “Good night.”