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Updated: May 8, 2025
Bumble can spare time to step up there, directly, and flog him 'cause master's out. 'Certainly, my boy; certainly, said the gentleman in the white waistcoat: smiling benignly, and patting Noah's head, which was about three inches higher than his own. 'You're a good boy a very good boy. Here's a penny for you. Bumble, just step up to Sowerberry's with your cane, and see what's best to be done.
The month's trial over, Oliver was formally apprenticed. It was a nice sickly season just at this time. In commercial phrase, coffins were looking up; and, in the course of a few weeks, Oliver acquired a great deal of experience. The success of Mr. Sowerberry's ingenious speculation, exceeded even his most sanguine hopes.
There was Sowerberry's the undertaker's just as it used to be, only smaller and less imposing in appearance than he remembered it there were all the well-known shops and houses, with almost every one of which he had some slight incident connected there was Gamfield's cart, the very cart he used to have, standing at the old public-house door there was the workhouse, the dreary prison of his youthful days, with its dismal windows frowning on the street there was the same lean porter standing at the gate, at sight of whom Oliver involuntarily shrunk back, and then laughed at himself for being so foolish, then cried, then laughed again there were scores of faces at the doors and windows that he knew quite well there was nearly everything as if he had left it but yesterday, and all his recent life had been but a happy dream.
As this consideration forced itself upon him, he slackened his pace a little, and meditated upon his means of getting there. He had a crust of bread, a coarse shirt, and two pairs of stockings, in his bundle. He had a penny too a gift of Sowerberry's after some funeral in which he had acquitted himself more than ordinarily well in his pocket.
Bumble with the old woman's decease. 'Very good, said that gentleman, sipping his peppermint; 'I'll call at Sowerberry's as I go home, and tell him to send to-morrow morning. Was it that as frightened you, love? 'It wasn't anything particular, dear, said the lady evasively. 'It must have been something, love, urged Mr. Bumble. 'Won't you tell your own B.?
Sowerberry, the undertaker, who finally relieved the board of their responsibility. Mrs. Sowerberry's ill-treatment drove Oliver to flight. He left the house in the early morning before anyone was stirring, struck across fields, and gained the high road outside the town. A milestone intimated that it was seventy miles to London. In London he would be beyond the reach of Mr.
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