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Updated: June 6, 2025
Brownlow had that morning purchased of the identical bookstall-keeper, who has already figured in this history; having laid them on the table, she prepared to leave the room. 'Stop the boy, Mrs. Bedwin! said Mr. Brownlow; 'there is something to go back. 'He has gone, sir, replied Mrs. Bedwin. 'Call after him, said Mr. Brownlow; 'it's particular. He is a poor man, and they are not paid for.
Bedwin followed him to the street-door, giving him many directions about the nearest way, and the name of the bookseller, and the name of the street: all of which Oliver said he clearly understood. Having superadded many injunctions to be sure and not take cold, the old lady at length permitted him to depart. 'Bless his sweet face! said the old lady, looking after him.
One evening, about a week after the affair of the picture, as he was sitting talking to Mrs. Bedwin, there came a message down from Mr. Brownlow, that if Oliver Twist felt pretty well, he should like to see him in his study, and talk to him a little while. 'Bless us, and save us! Wash your hands, and let me part your hair nicely for you, child, said Mrs. Bedwin. 'Dear heart alive!
At length, weak, and thin, and pallid, he awoke from what seemed a dream, and found himself being nursed by Mrs. Bedwin, Mr. Brownlow's motherly old house-keeper, and visited constantly by the doctor. Gradually he grew stronger, and soon could sit up a little. Those were happy, peaceful days of his recovery, the only happy ones he had ever known.
And the day after, there appeared among the fashionable reunions in the Morning Post a paragraph to the following effect: "Yesterday, Colonel and Mrs. Crawley entertained a select party at dinner at their house in May Fair. Wagg, &c. After dinner Mrs. Sands Bedwin, Bobachy Bahawder," and an &c., which the reader may fill at his pleasure through a dozen close lines of small type.
Bedwin, in the conversation that ensued: which indeed bore no reference to Oliver's history or prospects, but was confined to such topics as might amuse without exciting him.
'Silence! said the old gentleman, feigning an anger he was far from feeling. 'Never let me hear the boy's name again. I rang to tell you that. Never. Never, on any pretence, mind! You may leave the room, Mrs. Bedwin. Remember! I am in earnest. There were sad hearts at Mr. Brownlow's that night.
'Have you given him any nourishment, Bedwin? Any slops, eh? 'He has just had a basin of beautiful strong broth, sir, replied Mrs. Bedwin: drawing herself up slightly, and laying strong emphasis on the last word: to intimate that between slops, and broth will compounded, there existed no affinity or connection whatsoever. 'Ugh! said Mr.
'A great deal better, thank you, sir, replied Oliver. Mr. Brownlow, seeming to apprehend that his singular friend was about to say something disagreeable, asked Oliver to step downstairs and tell Mrs. Bedwin they were ready for tea; which, as he did not half like the visitor's manner, he was very happy to do. 'He is a nice-looking boy, is he not? inquired Mr. Brownlow.
'Yes, I know you are, said the gentleman: 'You're hungry too, an't you? 'No, sir, answered Oliver. 'Hem! said the gentleman. 'No, I know you're not. He is not hungry, Mrs. Bedwin, said the gentleman: looking very wise. The old lady made a respectful inclination of the head, which seemed to say that she thought the doctor was a very clever man.
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