"Alas. Pen | fun | pavilion www. ｂｉｑｕｇｅ。 info "Mr. Bombur's tone is not so high, and he is relieved to see that his eloquence is quite effective. "Alright, Oliver. Wipe your eyes with your sleeve and don't let your tears fall into the porridge, Oliver, that's stupid. That's true, there is enough water in the porridge.

On the way to the Sheriff's Office, Mr. Bombur told Oliver that what he had to do was to appear happy, and when the magistrate asked him if he wanted to be apprenticed, he replied that he wanted to do so. Oliver promised to comply, and Mr. Bombur politely hinted that if one of them slipped, no one could say what to do with him. When he arrived at the sheriff's office, Oliver was locked up in a hut, and Bombur told him to stay there until he came back to call him.

The boy had been in the little room for half an hour, and his heart was pounding, and just after that time Mr. Bombur suddenly put his head in, not even wearing a three-cornered hat, and said in a loud voice:

"Hey, Oliver, my dear, come with me to Lord Steward. Mr. Bombur said, with a hideous and terrible look on his face, and added in a low voice, "Remember what I said to you, you little rascal. “

Hearing this somewhat contradictory salutation, Oliver innocently looked at Mr. Bombur's face, but the gentleman did not allow him to express his opinion on it, and led him into the next room, with the door open. The room is very spacious and has a large window. Behind a writing desk sat two old gentlemen with hair powder on their heads, one reading a newspaper and the other with a pair of tortoiseshell glasses, looking at a small piece of parchment in front of him. Mr. Limkins stood on one side of the desk, Mr. Gambil's face was not wiped clean, and on the other side, two or three frightening-looking men in long riding boots paced up and down the room.

The bespectacled old gentleman gradually dozed off the piece of parchment. Mr. Bombur brought Oliver to the table and stood still, and there was a brief interval between them.

"Adult, this is the child. Mr. Bombur said.

The old gentleman, who was reading the newspaper, looked up and pulled at the sleeve of the other, and the old gentleman woke up.

"Oh, is that the child?" said the old gentleman.

"That's him, sir. Bombur replied, "Bow to the magistrate, my dear." “

Oliver straightened up and bowed respectfully. His eyes stayed on the hair powder on the head of the magistrate, and he kept wondering in his heart if all the magistrates were born with such a layer of white paint on their heads, and whether they became magistrates because of this play.

"Oh," said the old gentleman, "I suppose he likes to sweep the chimneys?"

"My lord, he likes it. Bombur secretly twisted Oliver and reminded him not to say he didn't like it.

"Well, then, he'd be a sweeper, wouldn't he?" the old gentleman interjected.

"If we let him do something else tomorrow, he'll slip away right away, my lord. Bombur replied.

"This man is his master—you, sir—should take good care of him, and take care of his food and lodging, and all the like—isn't it?" said the old gentleman again.

"If I say I can do it, I can do it. Mr. Griffel replied stubbornly.

"You're rude, friend, but you seem to be a cheerful and honest man. The old gentleman said, his glasses turning towards the applicant for the Oliver prize. Griffel's fierce face was originally branded as ruthless, but this magistrate was half blind-eyed and half naïve, so it was something that anyone could see, but he couldn't be expected to see it.

"I'm sure I am, sir. Mr. Griffel's eyes glared as he spoke, and he looked disgusting.

"I have no doubt about that, friend. The old gentleman replied. He straightened his glasses on the bridge of his nose and looked around for an inkwell.

Oliver's fate has reached a critical juncture. If the inkpot had been in the old gentleman's imagination, he would have inserted the quill and signed the certificate, and Oliver had been hastily taken away. But the ink kettle was under the old gentleman's nose, and then he searched all over the table as usual, but still did not find it. As he scrambled forward, his gaze fell on Oliver Twist's pale and frightened face. Although Bombur gave him a warning and pinched him, Oliver ignored it, staring intently at the ugly face of his future master, and no one could be mistakenly taken by the mixture of disgust and panic, not even a magistrate with poor eyes.

The old gentleman paused, put down his quill, looked at Oliver, and then at Mr. Limkins, who pretended to be snuffing, and looked pleasant and nonchalant.

"Kids. The old gentleman leaned down from his desk and said. Oliver was startled by the voice, and he was understandably reactive, just listen to how gentle it was, but the unfamiliar voice was always frightening, and he couldn't stop shivering, and tears welled up in his eyes.

"Child," said the old gentleman, "look at you, your face is white with fright. What's wrong?"

"Stay away from him, officer," said the other magistrate, laying down the newspaper and leaning forward with interest. "Alright, kid, tell us what's going on, don't be afraid. “

Oliver fell to his knees, clasped his hands tightly together, and begged them to send him back to the dark room—to starve him—to beat him—to slaughter him as please—not to send him away with the terrible man.

"Well," said Mr. Bombur, raising his hands and rolling his eyes upwards with a very solemn expression. "Well, Oliver, I've seen so many sinister, cunning, and unscrupulous orphans, and you're the most shameless of them all. “

"Shut up, officer. Mr. Bombur had scarcely uttered the adjective with the word "most" when the second old gentleman said.

"I'm sorry, my lord," said Mr. Bombur, wondering if he had misheard. "Do you mean me?"

"Yes, shut your mouth. “

Mr. Bombur was stunned. He even drank to shut up a parish officer. It's a world changer.

The old gentleman with a pair of tortoiseshell glasses glanced at his colleague, who nodded meaningfully.

"We don't approve these deeds. The old gentleman tossed the parchment aside and said.