Fagin’s Den by Freddie

As the Dodger dragged him up the squeaky rotted stairs like he was a rag doll, there was a strong smell of tobacco going up his wide as peas nostrils, as he he entered a drab dull attic. The room had ripped walls and no windows with sheep and cow skin hanging from the rotted slates like giant bats in a cave.

There was a tall old man with a beard like Santa and a dusty tattered top hat. His brown coat draped down behind him with a silk handkerchief hanging out of his pocket. His coat looked like it had been rolled in the ashes of a roaring fire.

oliver den


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