«A Clockwork Orange»

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He was a shortish veck in middle age, thirty, forty, fifty, and he had
otchkies on. "Sit down by the fire," he said, "and I'll get you some whisky
and warm water. Dear dear dear, somebody has been beating you up." And he
gave a like tender look at my gulliver and litso.
"The police," I said. "The horrible ghastly police."
"Another victim," he said, like sighing. "A victim of the modern age.
I'll go and get you that whisky and then I must clean up your wounds a
little." And off he went. I had a look round this malenky comfortable room.
It was nearly all books now and a fire and a couple of chairs, and you could
viddy somehow that there wasn't a woman living there. On the table was a
typewriter and a lot of like tumbled papers, and I remembered that this veck
was a writer veck. `A Clockwork Orange,' that had been it. It was funny that
that stuck in my mind. I must not let on, though, for I needed help and
kindness now. Those horrible grahzny bratchnies in that terrible white mesto
had done that to me, making me need help and kindness now and forcing me to
want to give help and kindness myself, if anybody would take it.
"Here we are, then," said this veck returning. He gave me this hot
stimulating glassful to peet, and it made me feel better, and then he
cleaned up these cuts on my litso. Then he said:
"You have a nice hot bath, I'll draw it for you, and then you can tell
me all about it over a nice hot supper which I'll get ready while you're
having the bath." O my brothers, I could have wept at his kindness, and I
think he must have viddied the old tears in my glazzies, for he said: "There
there there," patting me on the pletcho.
Anyway, I went up and had this hot bath, and he brought in pyjamas and
an over-gown for me to put on, all warmed by the fire, also a very worn pair
of toofles. And now, brothers, though I was aching and full of pains all
over, I felt I would soon feel a lot better. I ittied downstairs and viddied
that in the kitchen he had set the table with knives and forks and a fine
big loaf of kleb, also a bottle of PRIMA SAUCE, and soon he served out a
nice fry of eggiwegs and lomticks of ham and bursting sausages and big
bolshy mugs of hot sweet milky chai. It was nice sitting there in the warm,
eating, and I found I was very hungry, so that after the fry I had to eat
lomtick after lomtick of kleb and butter spread with strawberry jam out of a
bolshy great pot. "A lot better," I said. "How can I ever repay?"
"I think I know who you are," he said. "If you are who I think you are,
then you've come, my friend, to the right place. Wasn't that your picture in
the papers this morning? Are you the poor victim of this horrible new
technique? If so, then you have been sent here by Providence.