Олівер Твіст

Chapter 12

           ‘Well,neveryoumindthat,mydear,’saidtheoldlady;‘that’sgotnothingtodowithyourbroth;andit’sfulltimeyouhadit;forthedoctorsaysMr.Brownlowmaycomeintoseeyouthismorning;andwemustgetupourbestlooks,becausethebetterwelook,themorehe’llbepleased.Andwiththis,theoldladyappliedherselftowarmingup,inalittlesaucepan,abasinfullofbroth:strongenough,Oliverthought,tofurnishanampledinner,whenreducedtotheregulationstrength,forthreehundredandfiftypaupers,atthelowestcomputation.

           ‘Areyoufondofpictures,dear?’inquiredtheoldlady,seeingthatOliverhadfixedhiseyes,mostintently,onaportraitwhichhungagainstthewall;justoppositehischair.

           ‘Idon’tquiteknow,ma’am,’saidOliver,withouttakinghiseyesfromthecanvas;‘IhaveseensofewthatIhardlyknow.Whatabeautiful,mildfacethatlady’sis!’

           ‘Ah!’saidtheoldlady,‘paintersalwaysmakeladiesoutprettierthantheyare,ortheywouldn’tgetanycustom,child.Themanthatinventedthemachinefortakinglikenessesmighthaveknownthatwouldneversucceed;it’sadealtoohonest.Adeal,’saidtheoldlady,laughingveryheartilyatherownacuteness.

           ‘Isisthatalikeness,ma’am?’saidOliver.

           ‘Yes,’saidtheoldlady,lookingupforamomentfromthebroth;‘that’saportrait.

           ‘Whose,ma’am?’askedOliver.

           ‘Why,really,mydear,Idon’tknow,’answeredtheoldladyinagood-humouredmanner.

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