Fox of France

Oliver was taken aback, and wanted to struggle violently. He took out a small blade with his other hand, and stabbed at the hand of the "decent man" holding his wrist. But that "decent man" was surprisingly flexible, his other hand stretched out like lightning, and caught his hand holding the blade. The two held hands, looking from a distance, it looked like the elder brother was teaching the younger brother to dance the waltz.

Oliver immediately followed the technique that Fagin gave him, raised his knee and pushed towards the "respectable man"'s vitals. The "respectable man" was obviously prepared for it, he turned slightly to avoid the collision, but Oliver's unique trick was not to push his knees, it was just a deception. He stomped hard on the toes of that "respectable man".

The "respectable man" obviously didn't expect to be hit like this. He roared and threw Oliver out with both hands. Oliver was thrown severely on the stone road, and his whole body was in pain. He tried to support himself with his hands, and got up from the ground joint by joint, just like a carpenter opening a folding rule.

And that "decent person" person is not decent at this time. He stood there jumping with one foot, holding the other foot with both hands, and screaming like a stabbed pig.

Oliver got up with difficulty, and while the "respectable man" was still barking, he ran away. He ran out of the alleyway in a few steps, and then bumped into a policeman in black. Knocked the policeman into a stagger.

"You bastard!" The fat-faced policeman became furious, pulled out his baton, and hit Oliver, who was also bumped and sat on the ground, on the head and face.

According to the experience formed over the years, Oliver knew that at this time, begging for mercy, crying, and resisting were useless. The only way is to hold your head with your hands, shrink your whole body into a ball, protect the weak and vulnerable parts as much as possible, and then, it depends on when the policeman gets tired.

The policeman roared angrily, kicked Oliver who was already in the posture of being beaten, and then swung his baton across Oliver's hand holding his head. (In fact, in a sense, Oliver's standard beating posture annoyed the police more and more. In his opinion, the guy who can pose such a posture so skillfully is a bad breed and a thief! )

Oliver's right hand suddenly swelled up after being hit by the police. He gritted his teeth, closed his eyes, and said nothing, waiting for the rain of batons to continue to fall.

But, strangely, the batons did not follow. A hand grabbed the policeman's hand, and a voice rang in his ear, but Oliver couldn't understand what the voice said.

Oliver opened his eyes and saw that "respectable man" standing in front of him. He stretched a finger straight up to the nose of the fat policeman, and pointed at the fat policeman in a language he could not understand. The police yelled.

The policeman also didn't understand what the man who stopped him was saying, but this didn't prevent him from seeing clearly that the man was wearing the best woolen clothes, while his shirt was made of high-grade silk. Therefore, although the policeman could not understand what the man was shouting at him at all, this did not prevent him from taking a step back with a look of panic, and then hurriedly apologized to the gentleman.

Even if he is just a foreigner who speaks a foreign language that no one can understand. But looking at the clothes he was wearing, it also showed that he was a rich foreigner. As long as they are rich, whether they are British or foreign, isn't it worthy of the awe of a little policeman? You know, a rich foreigner will definitely know a lot of rich British people, and rich British people... Needless to say?

"Sir..." said the fat policeman, stumbling, "...sorry...maybe I offended you...but...sorry...I didn't understand...what are you talking about..."

At this time, this "decent man" realized what he said angrily just now, "How dare you trample on human rights for no reason", and "What is your police number, I will report you to the Disciplinary Supervision Committee" , What "the Ministry of Public Security and the Ministry of Truth will never allow such a situation" is all nonsense, because now, he is not in France, but in England.

"Bullying a child, sir, I'm really blushing for you." So he said to the policeman in English instead. Then he turned away, only to find that Oliver had disappeared. Just now, taking advantage of the opportunity of this respectable man to scold the police, Oliver ran away quickly.

"Sir, that kid looks like a thief at first glance. Really, I assure you, only a kind person like you can be fooled by his appearance. I assure you, that kid is a thief... ..." the fat policeman said hastily.

Taking advantage of the opportunity of the "respectable man" to scold the police, Oliver got up, turned around and fled into the alley he just ran out of. He ran a few steps along the alley, and then stopped. He saw that a book was lying on the spot where he had trampled on the "respectable man" just now.

It was the book that the "respectable man" was reading just now, and it fell here in the struggle with him.

Oliver picked up the book. He knew that books were worth a lot of money. Moreover, Boss Fagin also likes to read. He could often see Fagin reading alone in his spare time, or grabbing other people and teaching them to recognize some of the simplest words.

Oliver stuffed the book into his clothes and ran down the alley to the other end of the alley.

Not long after Oliver ran away, that "respectable man", Mr. Jacques Gauleng, Second Secretary of the French Embassy in the UK, also ended his entanglement with the English police. He assumed the attitude that everyone in the world is barbaric except Rome—no, except France. He scorned the policeman, and then turned back to the alley just now, looking for himself. of that book.

The book is gone.

But Mr. Jacques Gauleng was not too disappointed. The book wasn't cheap, but it was nothing compared to what the Ministry of Truth paid him. And as an expense of official action, the book is reimbursed. Of course, the reimbursement process is a bit long, and in many cases, you have to wait for a long time, but in any case, generally speaking, you will definitely be able to get the reimbursement money if it is delayed until Christmas at most. (Reimbursement of such things, many times, those accountants always like to push it to the end of the year and deal with it all at once)

Oliver walked through the alley, into another street, and walked a little further until he came to Petticoat Lane. This is one of the oldest and most lively streets in London. In the Tudor era, it used to be a place where pigs were slaughtered and meat was sold. Later, after the textile industry rose, it became a market for various textiles, so there is the name.

But this old street is too narrow to accommodate so many shops, and it is too close to the residential area of ​​the workers in the factory, so the security is not good enough. After all, most of the workers are poor people, and the poor people are often not very particular about the means when they carry out some illegal activities.

You know, here, a girl may become the target of the London police for half a loaf of bread, (of course, the police do not hit them because their behavior is indecent, but because they dare not ask the king His Majesty's government pays taxes) and men are quite likely to stick a knife in someone's stomach for a piece of potato; and here, many of the children are like the fat policeman said, they are thieves since childhood.

Here, the three problems of the century—poverty degrading men, hunger degrading women, and darkness debilitating children—are all in one.

Merchants who have money to do business are very kind people. They can't bear to see the poor suffer the most. So, they moved the market to other places where the poor were not seen, leaving only the name "Petticoat Lane".

Today's "Petticoat Lane" is already one of the dirtiest, most chaotic, and least safe and orderly places in London. Even the policeman will not easily enter this kind of place. And such areas, no matter in any country in the world, in any era, have a common name - slums.

There are basically no police in the slums, because there are no decent people who need police protection. The police generally don't come here, and even if they do, it must be a large group of people armed with live ammunition. But this is not a real place of chaos, it also has its order, just like Gotham also has Gotham's order.

Fagin is the Order of Petticoat Lane. If you go to the people of the Metropolitan Police Department and the residents of "Petticoat Lane" to inquire about Fagin's situation. Then what you hear will make you think it's totally two people.

According to people at the Metropolitan Police, Fagin was like some kind of monster out of the horror stories parents used to scare their children. He would quietly sneak into other people's homes, then tie up the kind hostesses and hostesses, and then with a knife, he would chop off the fingers of their cute little daughters one by one and threaten them to hand over the password of the safe. Or put some policemen who uphold justice, as well as former thieves who have repented and turned to the dark, into bags and throw them into the Thames River.

But in the mouths of "Petticoat Lane" residents, Fagin is the biggest good man. He's pretty much Santa Claus reincarnated. Even better than Santa Claus. Because Santa Claus only asks you to serve in one night, but he will always lend a helping hand to you when everyone is most difficult and needs help the most.

But few, even in Petticoat Lane, knew where to find Fagin.

Oliver was one of the few who knew where to find Fagin.