"I said, you shouldn't be angry, right? Look, you've come a long way, you know, or I wouldn't have had much to do. Pen, fun, pavilion www. biquge。 info "Mrs. McNe's tone was unbearably sweet. "Oh, would you like a sip, Mr. Bombur?"

"Don't drink a drop, don't drink a drop. Mr. Bombur swung his right hand again and again, with a very measured but peaceful demeanor.

"I'll think you'd better take a sip," said Mrs. McNe, noting the tone of the other's refusal and the ensuing action, "just take a small sip, mix it with a little cold water, and put a piece of sugar." “

Bombur coughed.

"Okay, take a sip. Mrs. McNe said obediently.

"What wine?" the officer asked.

"Yo, isn't it the kind of thing I have to have a little at home, and when these blessed dolls are not feeling well, I mix a little Tamiflu syrup and give them a drink, Mr. Bombur. Mrs. McNe said as she opened the cupboard and took out a bottle of wine and a glass. "Gin, I don't lie to you, Mr. Bang, it's gin. “

"You also serve the children Duffy syrup, Mrs. McNe?" asked the bartending procedure, which was very interesting, and Mr. Bombur asked as he caught his eye.

"Heaven willing, yes, no matter how expensive," replied the guardian, "I can't bear to see them suffer under my nose, sir, you know. “

"Yes," agreed Mr. Bombur, "you can't bear it. Mrs. McNe, you are a compassionate woman. (At this point she puts down her glass.) "I'll find an opportunity to talk to the council about this as soon as possible, Mrs. McNe. (He moves his glass to his face.) "You feel like a mother, Mrs. McNe. (He mixes the gin with water.) "I—I'm glad to toast to your health, Mrs. McNe. He drank half a cup in one gulp.

"Now let's get down to business," the officer said, pulling out a wallet. "The child who didn't even finish the baptism, Oliver Twist, turns nine today. “

"God bless him. Mrs. McNe interjected, wiping her left eye with the corner of her apron.

"In spite of the apparent offer of ten pounds, which was later increased to twenty pounds, and in spite of the best efforts of the diocese, the most extraordinary one," said Bombur, "we are not able to ascertain who his father was, nor his mother's address, name, or circumstances. “

Mrs. McNe threw up her hands in amazement, pondered for a moment, and said, "How did he come up with his name?"

The officer straightened his face and said proudly, "I took it." “

"You, Mr. Bombur. “

"It's me, Mrs. Maine. We named these babies in the order of ABC, the last one was S-Swable, and I gave it. This one is T—I'll call him Twist, the next one should be Enwen, and the next one is Wilkins. I've got the last few letters of my name, and when we get to Z, we'll start all over again. “

"Well, you're a great writer, sir. Mrs. Max said.

"Yes, yes," said the officer, apparently overjoyed by the compliment, "yes, yes, Mrs. McNe. He drank the watered gin, and added, "Oliver is too old to stay here, and the council has decided to let him move back to the workhouse, and I have come here to take him away, and you have told him to come to me." “

"I called him right away. Mrs. McNe said and left the drawing-room. By this time, the layer of sludge wrapped around Oliver's face and hands had been wiped off, and it was only so much to wipe off after one wash, and the kind female protector led him into the room.

"Bow to this gentleman, Oliver. Mrs. Lynn said.

Oliver bowed, this liturgy half to the parish clerk sitting in his chair, and half to the three-cornered hat on the table.

"Oliver, will you come with me?" said Mr. Bombur's voice, in a majestic voice.

Oliver was about to say that he was eager to go with someone, when he lifted his eyes and saw Mrs. McNee turn behind Mr. Bombur's chair and swing her fist at him violently, and he immediately understood the hint, which had stamped on him so many times that it could not have been impressed in his memory.

"Is she going with me?" asked poor Oliver.

"No, she can't go away," replied Mr. Bombur, "though she will come to see you sometimes." “

This was not a great relief to the child, who, despite his young age, was able to deliberately put on a look of reluctance to leave. It's not too hard to get this kid to squeeze out a few tears. Whenever you want to cry, starvation, and recent abuse can also help. Oliver cried quite naturally. Mrs. McNe hugged Oliver a thousand times, and gave him a piece of brioche bread, which was much more affordable for him, and saved him from looking hungry as soon as he arrived at the workhouse. Oliver had bread in his hand, and a little brown hat of the parish, and was led out of the wretched house by Mr. Bombur, where his childhood had never been illuminated by a gentle word or a kind gaze. Still, when the door of the house was closed behind him, he felt a sudden sense of childish sorrow, and he left behind his unfortunate friends, who were naughty and naughty, but they were the few good friends he had ever made, and a sense of loneliness that had fallen alone into the vast sea of people sank into the child's heart for the first time.

Mr. Bombur strode along, and little Oliver clung to his gold-rimmed cuffs and trotted alongside. Every two or three hundred yards he walked, he had to ask if he was "almost there." To these questions Mr. Bombur replied with a very brief and irascible reply, and the mixture of gin evokes only a brief time of mildness and generosity in the breasts of some men, and this mood has evaporated by this time, and he has become a parish clerk again.

Oliver had not been in the workhouse for a quarter of an hour, when he had settled another slice of bread and left him in the care of an old lady, when Mr. Bombur, who had gone on his own errand, returned, and told Oliver that he was meeting the council to-evening, and that the councillors had asked him to meet him at once.

Oliver was somewhat taken aback by the news, how a plank could be alive (1), he obviously knew nothing, and he couldn't figure out whether he should laugh or cry, but he didn't have the time to think about it. Mr. Bombur struck him on the head with his cane to bring him to his senses, and another blow on his back to cheer him up, and then commanded him to follow, and led him into a large whitewashed room, where a dozen or so fat gentlemen sat around a table. The first hoop chair was much higher than the others, and on the chair sat a particularly fat gentleman with a round and red face.