Олівер Твіст

Chapter 4

           Theundertaker,whohadjustputuptheshuttersofhisshop,wasmakingsomeentriesinhisday-bookbythelightofamostappropriatedismalcandle,whenMr.Bumbleentered.

           ‘Aha!’saidtheundertaker;lookingupfromthebook,andpausinginthemiddleofaword;‘isthatyou,Bumble?’

           ‘Nooneelse,Mr.Sowerberry,’repliedthebeadle.‘Here!I’vebroughttheboy.Olivermadeabow.

           ‘Oh!that’stheboy,isit?’saidtheundertaker:raisingthecandleabovehishead,togetabetterviewofOliver.‘Mrs.Sowerberry,willyouhavethegoodnesstocomehereamoment,mydear?’

           Mrs.Sowerberryemergedfromalittleroombehindtheshop,andpresentedtheformofashort,then,squeezed-upwoman,withavixenishcountenance.

           ‘Mydear,’saidMr.Sowerberry,deferentially,‘thisistheboyfromtheworkhousethatItoldyouof.Oliverbowedagain.

           ‘Dearme!’saidtheundertaker’swife,‘he’sverysmall.

           ‘Why,heISrathersmall,’repliedMr.Bumble:lookingatOliverasifitwerehisfaultthathewasnobigger;‘heissmall.There’snodenyingit.Buthe’llgrow,Mrs.Sowerberryhe’llgrow.

           ‘Ah!Idaresayhewill,’repliedtheladypettishly,‘onourvictualsandourdrink.Iseenosavinginparishchildren,notI;fortheyalwayscostmoretokeep,thanthey’reworth.However,menalwaysthinktheyknowbest.There!Getdownstairs,littlebago’bones.

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