The workhouse authorities humbly replied that they could not vacate it. In view of this www.biquge.info the parish authorities generously decided to send Oliver to "foster care" To put it another way, they were sent to a branch three miles away, where twenty or thirty little prisoners who had violated the Poor Law were wallowing on the floor all day, without the trouble of being overfed or overdressed, and an old woman gave them the discipline of being like a parent, and the old woman accepted the little prisoners for the benefit of a subsidy of six and a half pennies a week for each little head. Seven and a half pence a week can make a first-class meal for a child, and seven and a half pennies can buy a lot of things, which is enough to break a small belly, but it is uncomfortable. The old woman is resourceful, has a lot of experience, knows how to take care of the children, and has a very old private account. In this way, she used most of her weekly living expenses for her own purposes, and the allowance for the new generation of the diocese was much less than the prescribed amount. The fact that she discovered that there was something deeper in the depths proved that she herself was a great experimental philosopher.

Everyone knows the good story of another experimental philosopher, who had his own set of ideas that a horse can run well without grazing, and he also acted to show that he reduced his horse's feed to only one hay a day. No doubt that if the horse hadn't died twenty-four hours before he was about to get his first tasty air feed, he would have trained a fierce horse that would not eat anything. The woman entrusted with Oliver Twist's care also embraced experimental philosophy, and unfortunately her system often produced very similar results when implemented. Whenever a child has been trained to survive on a fraction of a food that is too poor to be inferior, eight and a half out of ten will either fall ill in bed from hunger and cold, or fall into the fire without paying attention, or choke half to death by chance, and in any one of these cases, the poor little beings will generally be summoned to another world to be reunited with their ancestors whom they have never seen before.

When I turned over the bed frame, I didn't see an orphan adopted by the diocese on the bed, and I turned him upside down, or I burned the child to death carelessly when I was just in time to wash and wash - but the latter kind of accident is very rare, and things like washing and washing can be said to be unique in foster care - such things happen, and occasionally there are lawsuits, which is very interesting, but not rare. The jury may have asked some difficult questions on a whim, or parishioners would openly protest together. However, such misacquaintances were soon countered by the testimony of the diocesan doctor, who routinely dissected the body and found it empty (which is highly likely), and by the testimony of the priest, who swore whatever the diocese asked them to take, and the testimony of the officer. In addition, the board of directors regularly inspects the foster care center, and always sends an officer a day in advance to say that they are coming, and when they go, the children are clean and shiny, and it is refreshing to say what the people want.

You can't expect anything great or fruitful from this foster care system. Oliver Twist's ninth birthday arrived, and he was still a pale and thin child, short and thin. However, I don't know if it's due to creation or genetics, Oliver has planted a spirit of fortitude and stubbornness in his chest. There is a lot of room for this spirit to develop, thanks to the poor food in the foster care center, and perhaps it is because of this treatment that he managed to live until his ninth birthday. At any rate, it was his ninth birthday, and he was celebrating it in the coal cellar, and the guests were selected, except for the other two little gentlemen, who were so vicious that they cried out that they were hungry, and they were beaten together, and then locked up again. At this moment Mrs. McNe, the good lady of the house, was startled, she did not expect the arrival of Mr. Bombur, the parish clerk, who was struggling to open the little door in the garden gate.

"Oh my God. Is that you, Mr. Bombur?" said Mrs. McNe, poking her head out of the window, with a look of joy on her face that was just right. "Susan, take Oliver and the two of them upstairs and wash them up. Oh, Mr. Bombur, I'm so glad to see you, really. “

No, Mr. Bombur was fat and impatient, so instead of replying with the same affection to such an affectionate greeting, he shook the little door and gave it another kick, which no one but the parish clerk could kick.

"Look, my lord," said Mrs. McNe, and hurried out, for the three children had already been transferred, "and look at my memory, I forgot that the door was bolted from the inside, and it was all for the sake of these little boys." Come in, sir, please come in, Mr. Bombur, please. “

Although the invitation was accompanied by a curtsy that would soften the heart of any parish officer, the officer was unmoved.

"Mrs. McNe, do you think it is polite, or proper, to do so?" asked Mr. Bombur, clenching his staff, "and the parish officials come here on parish business for the orphans adopted in the district, and you let them wait at the garden gate?"

"Seriously, Mr. Bombur, I'm just telling you that you're here, and one or two of them really like you. Mrs. McNe replied respectfully.

Mr. Bombur had always thought that he was eloquent and worth a lot, and he not only showed his eloquence, but also established his worth, and his attitude began to loosen somewhat.

"All right, all right, Mrs. McNe," he said in a more softened tone, "even if it is as you say, it may be. Lead me into the house, Mrs. McNe, for I have something to say. “

Mrs. McNe led the clerk into a small brick-floored drawing-room, invited him to sit down, and took it upon herself to place his tricorne and cane on a table in front of him. Mr. Bombur wiped the sweat from his forehead, glanced triumphantly at his tricorne, and smiled. Not bad, he smiled. After all, the errand is also human, Mr. Bombur smiled.