Oliver Twist/Source/Chapter 27: Difference between revisions
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| section = Chapter 27 |
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<title>Login required - All The Tropes</title> |
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| previous = [[../Chapter 26|Chapter 26]] |
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===Atones For The Unpoliteness Of A Former Chapter; Which Deserted A Lady, Most Unceremoniously=== |
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As it would be, by no means, seemly in a humble author to keep so |
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mighty a personage as a beadle waiting, with his back to the |
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<meta name="robots" content="noindex,nofollow"/> |
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fire, and the skirts of his coat gathered up under his arms, |
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until such time as it might suit his pleasure to relieve him; and |
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<link rel="shortcut icon" href="/favicon.ico"/> |
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as it would still less become his station, or his gallantry to |
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<link rel="search" type="application/opensearchdescription+xml" href="/w/opensearch_desc.php" title="All The Tropes (en)"/> |
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involve in the same neglect a lady on whom that beadle had looked |
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<link rel="EditURI" type="application/rsd+xml" href="https://allthetropes.org/w/api.php?action=rsd"/> |
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with an eye of tenderness and affection, and in whose ear he had |
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<link rel="license" href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/"/> |
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whispered sweet words, which, coming from such a quarter, might |
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<link rel="alternate" type="application/atom+xml" title="All The Tropes Atom feed" href="/w/index.php?title=Special:RecentChanges&feed=atom"/> |
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well thrill the bosom of maid or matron of whatsoever degree; the |
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<link rel="dns-prefetch" href="//login.miraheze.org"/> |
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historian whose pen traces these words--trusting that he knows |
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<!--[if lt IE 9]><script src="/w/load.php?debug=false&lang=en&modules=html5shiv&only=scripts&skin=vector&sync=1"></script><![endif]--> |
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his place, and that he entertains a becoming reverence for those |
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</head> |
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upon earth to whom high and important authority is |
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<body class="mediawiki ltr sitedir-ltr mw-hide-empty-elt ns--1 ns-special mw-special-Badtitle page-Special_Badtitle rootpage-Special_Badtitle skin-vector action-view"> <div id="mw-page-base" class="noprint"></div> |
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delegated--hastens to pay them that respect which their position |
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<div id="mw-head-base" class="noprint"></div> |
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demands, and to treat them with all that duteous ceremony which |
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<div id="content" class="mw-body" role="main"> |
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their exalted rank, and (by consequence) great virtues, |
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<a id="top"></a> |
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imperatively claim at his hands. Towards this end, indeed, he |
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<div id="siteNotice" class="mw-body-content"><!-- CentralNotice --></div><div class="mw-indicators mw-body-content"> |
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had purposed to introduce, in this place, a dissertation touching |
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the divine right of beadles, and elucidative of the position, |
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<h1 id="firstHeading" class="firstHeading" lang="en">Login required</h1> <div id="bodyContent" class="mw-body-content"> |
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that a beadle can do no wrong: which could not fail to have been |
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<div id="contentSub"></div> |
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both pleasurable and profitable to the right-minded reader but |
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<div id="jump-to-nav" class="mw-jump"> |
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which he is unfortunately compelled, by want of time and space, |
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Jump to: <a href="#mw-head">navigation</a>, <a href="#p-search">search</a> |
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to postpone to some more convenient and fitting opportunity; on |
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the arrival of which, he will be prepared to show, that a beadle |
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<div id="mw-content-text">Please <a href="/w/index.php?title=Special:UserLogin&returnto=Oliver+Twist%2FSource%2FChapter+27&returntoquery=action%3Draw" title="Special:UserLogin">log in</a> to view other pages.<p id="mw-returnto">Return to <a href="/wiki/Main_Page" title="Main Page">Main Page</a>.</p> |
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properly constituted: that is to say, a parochial beadle, |
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<noscript><img src="https://allthetropes.org/wiki/Special:CentralAutoLogin/start?type=1x1" alt="" title="" width="1" height="1" style="border: none; position: absolute;" /></noscript></div> <div class="printfooter"> |
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attached to a parochail workhouse, and attending in his official |
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Retrieved from "<a dir="ltr" href="https://allthetropes.org/wiki/Special:Badtitle">https://allthetropes.org/wiki/Special:Badtitle{{Dead link}}</a>" </div> |
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capacity the parochial church: is, in right and virtue of his |
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<div id="catlinks" class="catlinks catlinks-allhidden" data-mw="interface"></div> <div class="visualClear"></div> |
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office, possessed of all the excellences and best qualities of |
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humanity; and that to none of those excellences, can mere |
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</div> |
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companies' beadles, or court-of-law beadles, or even |
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<div id="mw-navigation"> |
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chapel-of-ease beadles (save the last, and they in a very lowly |
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<h2>Navigation menu</h2> |
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and inferior degree), lay the remotest sustainable claim. |
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<div id="mw-head"> |
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<div id="p-personal" role="navigation" class="" aria-labelledby="p-personal-label"> |
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Mr. Bumble had re-counted the teaspoons, re-weighed the |
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<h3 id="p-personal-label">Personal tools</h3> |
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sugar-tongs, made a closer inspection of the milk-pot, and |
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<ul> |
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ascertained to a nicety the exact condition of the furniture, |
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<li id="pt-login-private"><a href="/w/index.php?title=Special:UserLogin&returnto=Oliver+Twist%2FSource%2FChapter+27&returntoquery=action%3Draw" title="You need to log in to use this wiki [o]" accesskey="o">Log in</a></li> </ul> |
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down to the very horse-hair seats of the chairs; and had repeated |
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</div> |
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each process full half a dozen times; before he began to think |
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<div id="left-navigation"> |
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that it was time for Mrs. Corney to return. Thinking begets |
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<div id="p-namespaces" role="navigation" class="vectorTabs" aria-labelledby="p-namespaces-label"> |
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thinking; as there were no sounds of Mrs. Corney's approach, it |
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<h3 id="p-namespaces-label">Namespaces</h3> |
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occured to Mr. Bumble that it would be an innocent and virtuous |
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<ul> |
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way of spending the time, if he were further to allay his |
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<li id="ca-nstab-special" class="selected"><span><a href="/w/index.php?action=raw&title=Oliver+Twist%2FSource%2FChapter+27" title="This is a special page, and it cannot be edited">Special page</a></span></li> </ul> |
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curiousity by a cursory glance at the interior of Mrs. Corney's |
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</div> |
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chest of drawers. |
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<div id="p-variants" role="navigation" class="vectorMenu emptyPortlet" aria-labelledby="p-variants-label"> |
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<input type="checkbox" class="vectorMenuCheckbox" aria-labelledby="p-variants-label" /> |
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Having listened at the keyhole, to assure himself that nobody was |
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<h3 id="p-variants-label"> |
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approaching the chamber, Mr. Bumble, beginning at the bottom, |
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<span>Variants</span> |
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proceeded to make himself acquainted with the contents of the |
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</h3> |
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three long drawers: which, being filled with various garments of |
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<div class="menu"> |
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good fashion and texture, carefully preserved between two layers |
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<ul> |
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of old newspapers, speckled with dried lavender: seemed to yield |
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him exceeding satisfaction. Arriving, in course of time, at the |
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right-hand corner drawer (in which was the key), and beholding |
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</div> |
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therein a small padlocked box, which, being shaken, gave forth a |
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</div> |
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pleasant sound, as of the chinking of coin, Mr. Bumble returned |
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<div id="right-navigation"> |
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with a stately walk to the fireplace; and, resuming his old |
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<div id="p-views" role="navigation" class="vectorTabs emptyPortlet" aria-labelledby="p-views-label"> |
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attitude, said, with a grave and determined air, 'I'll do it!' |
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<h3 id="p-views-label">Views</h3> |
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He followed up this remarkable declaration, by shaking his head |
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<ul> |
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in a waggish manner for ten minutes, as though he were |
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</ul> |
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remonstrating with himself for being such a pleasant dog; and |
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</div> |
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then, he took a view of his legs in profile, with much seeming |
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<div id="p-cactions" role="navigation" class="vectorMenu emptyPortlet" aria-labelledby="p-cactions-label"> |
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pleasure and interest. |
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<input type="checkbox" class="vectorMenuCheckbox" aria-labelledby="p-cactions-label" /> |
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<h3 id="p-cactions-label"><span>More</span></h3> |
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He was still placidly engaged in this latter survey, when Mrs. |
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<div class="menu"> |
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Corney, hurrying into the room, threw herself, in a breathless |
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<ul> |
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state, on a chair by the fireside, and covering her eyes with one |
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</ul> |
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hand, placed the other over her heart, and gasped for breath. |
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</div> |
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</div> |
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'Mrs. Corney,' said Mr. Bumble, stooping over the matron, 'what |
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<div id="p-search" role="search"> |
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is this, ma'am? Has anything happened, ma'am? Pray answer me: |
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<h3> |
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I'm on--on--' Mr. Bumble, in his alarm, could not immediately |
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<label for="searchInput">Search</label> |
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think of the word 'tenterhooks,' so he said 'broken bottles.' |
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</h3> |
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<form action="/w/index.php" id="searchform"> |
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'Oh, Mr. Bumble!' cried the lady, 'I have been so dreadfully put |
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<div id="simpleSearch"> |
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out!' |
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<input type="search" name="search" placeholder="Search All The Tropes" title="Search All The Tropes [f]" accesskey="f" id="searchInput"/><input type="hidden" value="Special:Search" name="title"/><input type="submit" name="fulltext" value="Search" title="Search the pages for this text" id="mw-searchButton" class="searchButton mw-fallbackSearchButton"/><input type="submit" name="go" value="Go" title="Go to a page with this exact name if it exists" id="searchButton" class="searchButton"/> </div> |
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</form> |
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'Put out, ma'am!' exclaimed Mr. Bumble; 'who has dared to--? I |
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</div> |
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know!' said Mr. Bumble, checking himself, with native majesty, |
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</div> |
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'this is them wicious paupers!' |
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</div> |
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<div id="mw-panel"> |
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'It's dreadful to think of!' said the lady, shuddering. |
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<div id="p-logo" role="banner"><a class="mw-wiki-logo" href="/wiki/Main_Page" title="Visit the main page"></a></div> |
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<div class="portal" role="navigation" id="p-navigation" aria-labelledby="p-navigation-label"> |
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'Then _don't_ think of it, ma'am,' rejoined Mr. Bumble. |
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<h3 id="p-navigation-label">Navigation</h3> |
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<div class="body"> |
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'I can't help it,' whimpered the lady. |
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<ul> |
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<li id="n-Home-Page"><a href="/wiki/Main_Page">Home Page</a></li><li id="n-ATT-Community-Portal"><a href="/wiki/All_The_Tropes:Community_Portal">ATT Community Portal</a></li><li id="n-recentchanges"><a href="/wiki/Special:RecentChanges" title="A list of recent changes in the wiki [r]" accesskey="r">Recent changes</a></li><li id="n-randompage"><a href="/wiki/Special:Random" title="Load a random page [x]" accesskey="x">Random page</a></li><li id="n-MediaWiki-Help"><a href="/wiki/Help:Contents">MediaWiki Help</a></li><li id="n-Upload-file"><a href="/wiki/Special:Upload">Upload file</a></li> </ul> |
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'Then take something, ma'am,' said Mr. Bumble soothingly. 'A |
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</div> |
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little of the wine?' |
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</div> |
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<div class="portal" role="navigation" id="p-Troper_Tools" aria-labelledby="p-Troper_Tools-label"> |
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'Not for the world!' replied Mrs. Corney. 'I couldn't,--oh! The |
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<h3 id="p-Troper_Tools-label">Troper Tools</h3> |
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top shelf in the right-hand corner--oh!' Uttering these words, |
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<div class="body"> |
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the good lady pointed, distractedly, to the cupboard, and |
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<ul> |
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underwent a convulsion from internal spasms. Mr. Bumble rushed |
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<li id="n-User-Blogs"><a href="/wiki/Special:ArticlesHome">User Blogs</a></li><li id="n-Newest-Blog-Posts"><a href="/wiki/Special:ArticleLists">Newest Blog Posts</a></li><li id="n-Write-a-Blog-Post"><a href="/wiki/Special:CreateBlogPost">Write a Blog Post</a></li><li id="n-Follow-Your-Friends"><a href="/wiki/Special:UserActivity">Follow Your Friends</a></li><li id="n-See-Friends.2FFoes"><a href="/wiki/Special:ViewRelationshipRequests">See Friends/Foes</a></li><li id="n-View-Your-Messages"><a href="/wiki/Special:UserBoard">View Your Messages</a></li><li id="n-See-Your-Gifts"><a href="/wiki/Special:ViewGifts">See Your Gifts</a></li><li id="n-Gift-a-Friend"><a href="/wiki/Special:GiveGift">Gift a Friend</a></li> </ul> |
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to the closet; and, snatching a pint green-glass bottle from the |
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</div> |
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shelf thus incoherently indicated, filled a tea-cup with its |
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</div> |
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contents, and held it to the lady's lips. |
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<div class="portal" role="navigation" id="p-Troping_Utilities" aria-labelledby="p-Troping_Utilities-label"> |
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<h3 id="p-Troping_Utilities-label">Troping Utilities</h3> |
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'I'm better now,' said Mrs. Corney, falling back, after drinking |
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<div class="body"> |
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half of it. |
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<ul> |
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<li id="n-ATT-Page-Creator"><a href="/wiki/All_The_Tropes:ATT_Page_Creator">ATT Page Creator</a></li><li id="n-Trope-Workshop"><a href="/wiki/Category:Trope_Workshop">Trope Workshop</a></li><li id="n-ATT-Forums"><a href="/wiki/Special:WikiForum">ATT Forums</a></li><li id="n-ATT-Forums-.28old.29"><a href="/wiki/Forum:All_The_Tropes">ATT Forums (old)</a></li><li id="n-ATT-WebChat-.28IRC.29"><a href="/wiki/Special:WebChat">ATT WebChat (IRC)</a></li><li id="n-ATT-WebChat-.28onwiki.29"><a href="/wiki/Special:Chat">ATT WebChat (onwiki)</a></li><li id="n-Troper-Userboxes"><a href="/wiki/All_The_Tropes:Userboxes">Troper Userboxes</a></li><li id="n-Mechanics-of-Writing"><a href="/wiki/Mechanics_of_Writing">Mechanics of Writing</a></li> </ul> |
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Mr. Bumble raised his eyes piously to the ceiling in |
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</div> |
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thankfulness; and, bringing them down again to the brim of the |
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</div> |
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cup, lifted it to his nose. |
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<div class="portal" role="navigation" id="p-Troper_Social_Networks" aria-labelledby="p-Troper_Social_Networks-label"> |
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<h3 id="p-Troper_Social_Networks-label">Troper Social Networks</h3> |
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'Peppermint,' exclaimed Mrs. Corney, in a faint voice, smiling |
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<div class="body"> |
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gently on the beadle as she spoke. 'Try it! There's a little--a |
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<ul> |
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little something else in it.' |
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<li id="n-ATT-Twitter"><a href="https://twitter.com/ATTropes" rel="nofollow">ATT Twitter</a></li><li id="n-ATT-subreddit"><a href="http://www.reddit.com/r/AllTheTropes/" rel="nofollow">ATT subreddit</a></li> </ul> |
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</div> |
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Mr. Bumble tasted the medicine with a doubtful look; smacked his |
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</div> |
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lips; took another taste; and put the cup down empty. |
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<div class="portal" role="navigation" id="p-tb" aria-labelledby="p-tb-label"> |
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<h3 id="p-tb-label">Tools</h3> |
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'It's very comforting,' said Mrs. Corney. |
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<div class="body"> |
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<ul> |
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'Very much so indeed, ma'am,' said the beadle. As he spoke, he |
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<li id="t-specialpages"><a href="/wiki/Special:SpecialPages" title="A list of all special pages [q]" accesskey="q">Special pages</a></li><li id="t-print"><a href="/w/index.php?title=Special:Badtitle&action=raw&printable=yes" rel="alternate" title="Printable version of this page [p]" accesskey="p">Printable version</a></li><li id="t-urlshortener"><a href="/w/index.php?title=Special:UrlShortener&url=https%3A%2F%2Fallthetropes.org%2Fw%2Findex.php%3Ftitle%3DSpecial%3ABadtitle%26action%3Draw">Get shortened URL</a></li> </ul> |
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drew a chair beside the matron, and tenderly inquired what had |
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</div> |
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happened to distress her. |
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</div> |
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</div> |
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'Nothing,' replied Mrs. Corney. 'I am a foolish, excitable, weak |
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</div> |
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creetur.' |
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<div id="footer" role="contentinfo"> |
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<ul id="footer-places"> |
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'Not weak, ma'am,' retorted Mr. Bumble, drawing his chair a |
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<li id="footer-places-privacy"><a href="//meta.miraheze.org/wiki/Privacy_Policy" class="extiw" title="m:Privacy Policy">Privacy policy</a></li> |
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little closer. 'Are you a weak creetur, Mrs. Corney?' |
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<li id="footer-places-about"><a href="/wiki/All_The_Tropes:About" title="All The Tropes:About">About All The Tropes</a></li> |
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<li id="footer-places-disclaimer"><a href="/wiki/All_The_Tropes:General_disclaimer" title="All The Tropes:General disclaimer">Disclaimers</a></li> |
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'We are all weak creeturs,' said Mrs. Corney, laying down a |
|||
<li id="footer-places-termsofservice"><a href="//meta.miraheze.org/wiki/Terms_of_Use" class="extiw" title="m:Terms of Use">Terms of Use</a></li> |
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general principle. |
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<li id="footer-places-mobileview"><a href="https://allthetropes.org/w/index.php?title=Special:Badtitle&action=raw&mobileaction=toggle_view_mobile{{Dead link}}" class="noprint stopMobileRedirectToggle">Mobile view</a></li> |
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</ul> |
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'So we are,' said the beadle. |
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<ul id="footer-icons" class="noprint"> |
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<li id="footer-copyrightico"> |
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Nothing was said on either side, for a minute or two afterwards. |
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<a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/"><img src="https://meta.miraheze.org/w/resources/assets/licenses/cc-by-sa.png" alt="Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International (CC BY-SA 4.0)" width="88" height="31"/></a> </li> |
|||
By the expiration of that time, Mr. Bumble had illustrated the |
|||
<li id="footer-poweredbyico"> |
|||
position by removing his left arm from the back of Mrs. Corney's |
|||
<a href="//www.mediawiki.org/"><img src="/w/resources/assets/poweredby_mediawiki_88x31.png" alt="Powered by MediaWiki" srcset="/w/resources/assets/poweredby_mediawiki_132x47.png 1.5x, /w/resources/assets/poweredby_mediawiki_176x62.png 2x" width="88" height="31"/></a><a href="https://meta.miraheze.org/wiki/"><img src="https://static.miraheze.org/metawiki/7/7e/Powered_by_Miraheze.png" alt="Miraheze Wiki Hosting" width="88" height="31"/></a> </li> |
|||
chair, where it had previously rested, to Mrs. Corney's |
|||
</ul> |
|||
apron-string, round which it gradually became entwined. |
|||
<div style="clear: both;"></div> |
|||
</div> |
|||
'We are all weak creeturs,' said Mr. Bumble. |
|||
<!-- Matomo --> |
|||
<script type="text/javascript"> |
|||
Mrs. Corney sighed. |
|||
var _paq = _paq || []; |
|||
_paq.push(["trackPageView"]); |
|||
'Don't sigh, Mrs. Corney,' said Mr. Bumble. |
|||
_paq.push(["enableLinkTracking"]); |
|||
(function() { |
|||
'I can't help it,' said Mrs. Corney. And she sighed again. |
|||
var u = "https://matomo.miraheze.org/"; |
|||
var globalId = 1; |
|||
'This is a very comfortable room, ma'am,' said Mr. Bumble looking |
|||
_paq.push(["setTrackerUrl", u + "piwik.php"]); |
|||
round. 'Another room, and this, ma'am, would be a complete |
|||
_paq.push(['setDocumentTitle', "allthetropeswiki" + " - " + "Special:Badtitle"]); |
|||
thing.' |
|||
_paq.push(["setSiteId", "2"]); |
|||
_paq.push(["setCustomVariable", 1, "userType", "Anonymous", "visit"]); |
|||
'It would be too much for one,' murmured the lady. |
|||
if ( globalId ) { |
|||
_paq.push(['addTracker', u + "piwik.php", globalId]); |
|||
'But not for two, ma'am,' rejoined Mr. Bumble, in soft accents. |
|||
} |
|||
'Eh, Mrs. Corney?' |
|||
var d=document, g=d.createElement("script"), s=d.getElementsByTagName("script")[0]; g.type="text/javascript"; |
|||
g.defer=true; g.async=true; g.src=u+"piwik.js"; s.parentNode.insertBefore(g,s); |
|||
Mrs. Corney drooped her head, when the beadle said this; the |
|||
})(); |
|||
beadle drooped his, to get a view of Mrs. Corney's face. Mrs. |
|||
</script> |
|||
Corney, with great propriety, turned her head away, and released |
|||
<!-- End Matomo Code --> |
|||
her hand to get at her pocket-handkerchief; but insensibly |
|||
<!-- Matomo Image Tracker --> |
|||
replaced it in that of Mr. Bumble. |
|||
<noscript><p><img src="https://matomo.miraheze.org/piwik.php?idsite=2&rec=1&action_name=Special:Badtitle" style="border:0;" alt="" /></p></noscript> |
|||
<!-- End Matomo --><script>(window.RLQ=window.RLQ||[]).push(function(){mw.config.set({"wgBackendResponseTime":144,"wgHostname":"mw1"});});</script> |
|||
'The board allows you coals, don't they, Mrs. Corney?' inquired |
|||
</body> |
|||
the beadle, affectionately pressing her hand. |
|||
</html> |
|||
'And candles,' replied Mrs. Corney, slightly returning the |
|||
pressure. |
|||
'Coals, candles, and house-rent free,' said Mr. Bumble. 'Oh, |
|||
Mrs. Corney, what an Angel you are!' |
|||
The lady was not proof against this burst of feeling. She sank |
|||
into Mr. Bumble's arms; and that gentleman in his agitation, |
|||
imprinted a passionate kiss upon her chaste nose. |
|||
'Such porochial perfection!' exclaimed Mr. Bumble, rapturously. |
|||
'You know that Mr. Slout is worse to-night, my fascinator?' |
|||
'Yes,' replied Mrs. Corney, bashfully. |
|||
'He can't live a week, the doctor says,' pursued Mr. Bumble. 'He |
|||
is the master of this establishment; his death will cause a |
|||
wacancy; that wacancy must be filled up. Oh, Mrs. Corney, what a |
|||
prospect this opens! What a opportunity for a jining of hearts |
|||
and housekeepings!' |
|||
Mrs. Corney sobbed. |
|||
'The little word?' said Mr. Bumble, bending over the bashful |
|||
beauty. 'The one little, little, little word, my blessed |
|||
Corney?' |
|||
'Ye--ye--yes!' sighed out the matron. |
|||
'One more,' pursued the beadle; 'compose your darling feelings |
|||
for only one more. When is it to come off?' |
|||
Mrs. Corney twice essayed to speak: and twice failed. At length |
|||
summoning up courage, she threw her arms around Mr. Bumble's |
|||
neck, and said, it might be as soon as ever he pleased, and that |
|||
he was 'a irresistible duck.' |
|||
Matters being thus amicably and satisfactorily arranged, the |
|||
contract was solemnly ratified in another teacupful of the |
|||
peppermint mixture; which was rendered the more necessary, by the |
|||
flutter and agitation of the lady's spirits. While it was being |
|||
disposed of, she acquainted Mr. 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.?' |
|||
'Not now,' rejoined the lady; 'one of these days. After we're |
|||
married, dear.' |
|||
'After we're married!' exclaimed Mr. Bumble. 'It wasn't any |
|||
impudence from any of them male paupers as--' |
|||
'No, no, love!' interposed the lady, hastily. |
|||
'If I thought it was,' continued Mr. Bumble; 'if I thought as any |
|||
one of 'em had dared to lift his wulgar eyes to that lovely |
|||
countenance--' |
|||
'They wouldn't have dared to do it, love,' responded the lady. |
|||
'They had better not!' said Mr. Bumble, clenching his fist. 'Let |
|||
me see any man, porochial or extra-porochial, as would presume to |
|||
do it; and I can tell him that he wouldn't do it a second time!' |
|||
Unembellished by any violence of gesticulation, this might have |
|||
seemed no very high compliment to the lady's charms; but, as Mr. |
|||
Bumble accompanied the threat with many warlike gestures, she was |
|||
much touched with this proof of his devotion, and protested, with |
|||
great admiration, that he was indeed a dove. |
|||
The dove then turned up his coat-collar, and put on his cocked |
|||
hat; and, having exchanged a long and affectionate embrace with |
|||
his future partner, once again braved the cold wind of the night: |
|||
merely pausing, for a few minutes, in the male paupers' ward, to |
|||
abuse them a little, with the view of satisfying himself that he |
|||
could fill the office of workhouse-master with needful acerbity. |
|||
Assured of his qualifications, Mr. Bumble left the building with |
|||
a light heart, and bright visions of his future promotion: which |
|||
served to occupy his mind until he reached the shop of the |
|||
undertaker. |
|||
Now, Mr. and Mrs. Sowerberry having gone out to tea and supper: |
|||
and Noah Claypole not being at any time disposed to take upon |
|||
himself a greater amount of physical exertion than is necessary |
|||
to a convenient performance of the two functions of eating and |
|||
drinking, the shop was not closed, although it was past the usual |
|||
hour of shutting-up. Mr. Bumble tapped with his cane on the |
|||
counter several times; but, attracting no attention, and |
|||
beholding a light shining through the glass-window of the little |
|||
parlour at the back of the shop, he made bold to peep in and see |
|||
what was going forward; and when he saw what was going forward, |
|||
he was not a little surprised. |
|||
The cloth was laid for supper; the table was covered with bread |
|||
and butter, plates and glasses; a porter-pot and a wine-bottle. |
|||
At the upper end of the table, Mr. Noah Claypole lolled |
|||
negligently in an easy-chair, with his legs thrown over one of |
|||
the arms: an open clasp-knife in one hand, and a mass of buttered |
|||
bread in the other. Close beside him stood Charlotte, opening |
|||
oysters from a barrel: which Mr. Claypole condescended to |
|||
swallow, with remarkable avidity. A more than ordinary redness |
|||
in the region of the young gentleman's nose, and a kind of fixed |
|||
wink in his right eye, denoted that he was in a slight degree |
|||
intoxicated; these symptoms were confirmed by the intense relish |
|||
with which he took his oysters, for which nothing but a strong |
|||
appreciation of their cooling properties, in cases of internal |
|||
fever, could have sufficiently accounted. |
|||
'Here's a delicious fat one, Noah, dear!' said Charlotte; 'try |
|||
him, do; only this one.' |
|||
'What a delicious thing is a oyster!' remarked Mr. Claypole, |
|||
after he had swallowed it. 'What a pity it is, a number of 'em |
|||
should ever make you feel uncomfortable; isn't it, Charlotte?' |
|||
'It's quite a cruelty,' said Charlotte. |
|||
'So it is,' acquiesced Mr. Claypole. 'An't yer fond of oysters?' |
|||
'Not overmuch,' replied Charlotte. 'I like to see you eat 'em, |
|||
Noah dear, better than eating 'em myself.' |
|||
'Lor!' said Noah, reflectively; 'how queer!' |
|||
'Have another,' said Charlotte. 'Here's one with such a |
|||
beautiful, delicate beard!' |
|||
'I can't manage any more,' said Noah. 'I'm very sorry. Come |
|||
here, Charlotte, and I'll kiss yer.' |
|||
'What!' said Mr. Bumble, bursting into the room. 'Say that |
|||
again, sir.' |
|||
Charlotte uttered a scream, and hid her face in her apron. Mr. |
|||
Claypole, without making any further change in his position than |
|||
suffering his legs to reach the ground, gazed at the beadle in |
|||
drunken terror. |
|||
'Say it again, you wile, owdacious fellow!' said Mr. Bumble. 'How |
|||
dare you mention such a thing, sir? And how dare you encourage |
|||
him, you insolent minx? Kiss her!' exclaimed Mr. Bumble, in |
|||
strong indignation. 'Faugh!' |
|||
'I didn't mean to do it!' said Noah, blubbering. 'She's always |
|||
a-kissing of me, whether I like it, or not.' |
|||
'Oh, Noah,' cried Charlotte, reproachfully. |
|||
'Yer are; yer know yer are!' retorted Noah. 'She's always |
|||
a-doin' of it, Mr. Bumble, sir; she chucks me under the chin, |
|||
please, sir; and makes all manner of love!' |
|||
'Silence!' cried Mr. Bumble, sternly. 'Take yourself downstairs, |
|||
ma'am. Noah, you shut up the shop; say another word till your |
|||
master comes home, at your peril; and, when he does come home, |
|||
tell him that Mr. Bumble said he was to send a old woman's shell |
|||
after breakfast to-morrow morning. Do you hear sir? Kissing!' |
|||
cried Mr. Bumble, holding up his hands. 'The sin and wickedness |
|||
of the lower orders in this porochial district is frightful! If |
|||
Parliament don't take their abominable courses under |
|||
consideration, this country's ruined, and the character of the |
|||
peasantry gone for ever!' With these words, the beadle strode, |
|||
with a lofty and gloomy air, from the undertaker's premises. |
|||
And now that we have accompanied him so far on his road home, and |
|||
have made all necessary preparations for the old woman's funeral, |
|||
let us set on foot a few inquires after young Oliver Twist, and |
|||
ascertain whether he be still lying in the ditch where Toby |
|||
Crackit left him. |
|||
[[Category:Source]] |
|||
[[Category:{{BASEPAGENAME}}]] |
|||
{{reflist}} |
Revision as of 01:47, 26 October 2018
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