Chapter 8 Chapter VII

(Oliver continues to resist.) Noah ran wildly on the street at the fastest speed, and ran to the door of the workhouse in one breath.He rested there for a minute or two, preparing a wonderful sob, with an unforgettable look of tears and terror, and then banged on the little door.The person who opened the door was an elderly poor man. Even in his own golden age, he only saw melancholy and mournful faces, but when he saw such a sad face suddenly, he backed away in shock. "Well, something must have happened to the boy," said the old man. "Mr. Bumble! Mr. Bumble!" cried Noah, in a distraught voice, so loud and excited that it reached Bumble himself more than once—who, by coincidence, was nearby. —so frightened that he rushed into the yard without even putting on his cocked hat—a rare and remarkable case of even a parson, in the presence of some sudden and powerful stimulus. In the next, there will be a moment and a half will appear flustered, and forget personal dignity.

"Oh, sir, Mr. Bumble," said Noah, "Oliver, sir—Oliver he—" "What? What?" broke in Mr. Bumble impatiently, with a gleam of joy in his metallic eyes. "He didn't escape, did he? Noah, he didn't, did he?" "No, sir, no, he didn't, but he's gone mad," replied Noah. "Sir, he's trying to kill me, and then he's trying to kill Charlotte, and then there's the proprietress. Oh! It hurts me! It hurts, you see." At this point, Noah twisted and twisted his body in various positions, like an eel, so that Mr. Buble could understand, O Liv Twist's bloody atrocities caused him serious internal injuries, and he was enduring the most severe pain at this moment.

Seeing that Mr. Bumble was completely petrified by his report, Noah exclaimed that he was beaten all over his body, ten times louder than before, which increased the original effect.He also saw a gentleman in a white waistcoat passing the yard, and he reckoned that he could easily attract this gentleman and arouse his righteous indignation.His dirge became more and more miserable. The gentleman's attention was really quickly attracted, and after he had taken three steps, he turned angrily, and asked the little bastard what he was howling about, and why didn't Mr. Bumble show him some color, In that case, it is very likely that this series of howling will be faked.

"Here is a poor free-school boy, sir," answered Mr. Bumble, "and he was very nearly murdered—nearly, sir—by little Twist." "That's true?" said the gentleman in the white waistcoat, stopping abruptly. "I knew it a long time ago. From the very beginning, I sensed a strange premonition that sooner or later that impudent little savage would be hanged." "Sir, he's trying to kill the housemaid," said Mr. Bumble, ashamed. "And the landlady," put in Mr. Claypole. "You seem to say there's a boss, Noah, don't you?" added Mr. Bumble.

"No, the boss has gone out, or he might have killed him," Noah replied, "He said he wanted to do this." "Huh? Said he wanted to do it, didn't he, my boy?" asked the gentleman in the white waistcoat. "Yes, sir," replied Noah. "Sir, the proprietress would like to ask if Mr. Bumble could spare some time to go and whip him at once—for the proprietor is not at home." "Of course, my boy, of course you can," the gentleman in the white vest smiled cordially, and patted Noah on the head, who was about three inches taller than himself, "You are a good boy—a very good boy!" This penny is for you. Take your cane and go to Sowerberry's now, Bumble, and you'll see it done, Bumble, and don't spare him."

"Oh, I won't let him go lightly, don't worry," replied the clerk, straightening the wax tape around the end of the cane that the parish uses for flogging. "Tell Sulberry not to let him go. He won't be subdued without some scars and whips," said the gentleman in the white waistcoat. "I remember, sir," replied the clerk.By this time, Mr. Bumble had put on his three-cornered hat and tidied up his cane, and the owner of these two things was satisfied, so he went straight to Sowerberry's coffin shop with Noah Claypole. come. On this side, the situation is still not improving.Sowerbury had not returned yet, and Oliver kept kicking at the cellar door with undiminished vigor.Since Mrs. Sowerberry and Charlotte spoke so terrible of the cruel Oliver, Mr. Bumble thought it best to negotiate before opening the door.He kicked at the door outside as a prelude, then put his mouth on the keyhole, and cried out in a deep but weighty voice:

"Oliver!" "Open the door, and let me out!" replied Oliver from within. "Do you hear the sound, Oliver?" said Mr. Bumble. "I heard it." "Aren't you afraid, sir? Don't you even shudder when I speak, sir?" asked Mr. Bumble. "No!" replied Oliver resolutely. The answer was so different from what Mr. Bumble had expected, and what he had always received, that he was startled.He backed away from the keyhole, straightened up, and looked at the three people standing beside him one by one in astonishment, without making a sound.

"Oh, Mr. Bumble, you know, he must be mad," said Mrs. Sowerbury. "No boy would dare speak to you like that, not half of it." "It's not madness, ma'am," replied Bumble, after a moment's thought, "it's meat." "What?" cried Mrs. Sowerberry. "It's meat, ma'am, it's a matter of meat," answered Bumble gravely, "you've overfed him, ma'am, and you've cultivated in him a false blood and soul, ma'am, which has nothing to do with who he is." Very disproportionate. The trustees, Mrs. Sowerberry, are practical philosophers, and they will tell you. What do paupers want blood or souls for? It is more than enough to keep their bodies alive. If you let If he ate all his porridge, that would never have happened."

"Dear, dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Sowerberry, her eyes raised reverently to the kitchen ceiling. "It's such a result with good intentions." Mrs. Sowerberry's kindness to Oliver was to generously give him all kinds of dirty leftovers that no one else would eat.In the face of Mr. Bumble's stern words and censures, she has a gentle, honest and self-sacrificing attitude.In fact, in all fairness, Mrs. Sowerberry was above reproach no matter what she thought, said, or did. "Ah!" said Mr. Bumble, waiting for the lady's eyes to rest on the ground again, "the only thing that can be done at present, as I see it, is to lock him up in the cellar for a day or two, till he is quite hungry. I can't bear to let him out again, and from now on until he is full of teachers, he will only eat porridge. The boy is born lowly and has a natural impatient look, Mrs. Sowerberry. Who has looked after him The nurse and the doctor told me that his mother had suffered so much and made great efforts to come here, and if she was replaced by any decent woman, she would have died long ago."

At this point in Bumble's discourse, Oliver perceived that the next jeering was directed at his mother again, and began again to kick the door violently, stifling all other voices.At this juncture, Sowerberry came back.The two ladies recounted Oliver's crimes one by one, picking and embellishing those words which most aroused him.After hearing this, the boss immediately opened the cellar, grabbed Oliver by the collar, and dragged the rebellious apprentice out in the blink of an eye. Oliver's clothes had been torn from the beatings, and his face was bruised, bruised, and scratched in places, and his hair fell matted upon his forehead.However, the flushed angry face still did not disappear. As soon as he was pulled out of the place of detention, he stared at Noah with wide eyes and fearlessness, without seeming discouraged at all.

"Look at you son of a bitch, you've done a good job, haven't you?" Sowerbury gave him a shove, and a slap across the face. "He called my mother," replied Oliver. "Well, what's the point of scolding, you ungrateful little bastard?" said Mrs. Sowerberry. "Your mother deserves it, and I don't think I've had enough scolding." "She's not like that," said Oliver. "She is," declared Mrs. Sowerberry. "You lie!" said Oliver. Mrs. Sowerberry burst into tears, tears streaming down her cheeks. Facing his wife's flood of tears, Mr. Sowerberry had to show his cards.Every experienced reader will surely decide that, had he hesitated a moment in punishing Oliver severely, he would be nothing more than a beast, an unreasonable husband, and a rough man, by the precedent of conjugal quarrels; A poor fake by manly standards.There are too many suitable titles of various colors, and the space of this chapter is limited to describe them in detail.To do justice to him, within the sphere of his power--which was not very large--he was kind to the boy, either from interest, or perhaps from his wife's dislike of Oliver.At any rate, the deluge of tears overwhelmed him, and he gave Oliver such a blow at once, that Mrs. Sowerbury herself was content, and Mr. Bumble had no need of the parish. Cane.For the rest of the day Oliver was shut up in the back kitchen, with only a pump and a loaf of bread for company.At night, Mrs. Sowerbury first talked for a long time outside the door. The compliment was not in memory of Oliver's mother. Noah and Charlotte sat on the side, pointing out and then Mrs. Sowerberry, with a peep into the room, ordered Oliver to return upstairs to his dreadful bed. In the dreary silence of the dark coffin-shop, where Oliver was alone, he had not until this moment expressed the feelings which the events of the day might arouse in a child's heart.He once let people mock him with a contemptuous expression, and endured whipping and beating without saying a word, because he felt that there was a growing dignity in his heart, and with this dignity, he persisted to the end, even if they were alive by them. Even if it is roasted on the fire, it will not make a sound.However, at this time, no one around saw or heard Oliver fell to his knees, covered his face with his hands, and began to cry—weeping is the nature that God gave us—but how many people would be so small? Shed tears before God at a young age! Oliver remained motionless, and knelt for a long, long time.When he stood up, the candle was almost burning down to the lampstand below.He carefully looked around, listened intently, and then gently opened the door lock and latch, and looked outside. It was a cold and gloomy night.To a child, even the stars seem farther away than they used to be.There was no wind, and the dim tree shadows were silently projected on the ground, looking so eerie and dead.He gently closed the door again, and by the light of the candle that was about to be extinguished, he tied up the few clothes he had with a handkerchief, and then sat down on a bench, waiting for the dawn. The first ray of dawn came stubbornly through the chink in the shutters. Oliver got up, opened the door, looked back timidly--hesitated--he had closed the shop door behind him, and walked out into the street. superior. He looked to the left and right, wondering where to run.He remembered that when he went out, he saw the carriage carrying goods struggling towards the hill over there, so he chose this road.He set foot on a path across the field, knowing that the road would be the road ahead, so he walked quickly along the path. Oliver was walking on this path, and the scene when Mr. Bumble took him out of the foster care for the first time came to his mind clearly. At that time, he stuck to Bumble and ran to the poor. hospital catch up.This road leads all the way to the foster house.Thinking of this level, his heart beat violently, and he almost wanted to turn back.He has come a long way, however, and doing so would take a considerable amount of time.Besides, it was so early that he had no fear of being seen, so he walked on. Oliver arrives at the foster home.Early in the morning, there was no sign of anyone walking inside.Oliver stopped, and looking furtively into the yard, he saw a boy weeding a small nursery.The boy lifted his pale face as Oliver stopped, and Oliver recognized his former companion at once.Oliver was glad to see him before going away, for the boy, though younger than himself, was his little friend, and used to play with him.They were beaten together, starved together, and imprisoned together countless times. "Hush, Dick," said Oliver.Dick ran to the door, stretched out a slender arm through the railing, and greeted Oliver. "Is anyone up?" "Just me," Dick replied. "Dick, you can't say you've seen me," said Oliver. "I've run away. Dick, they beat me and bullied me. I'm going far, far away to try my luck, Don't know where. You're too pale." "I heard the doctors tell them I'm dying," Dick replied with a faint smile, "it's good to see you, my dear, but don't stop, don't stop." "Yes, yes, I'll say good-bye to you now. I'll come and see you, Dick, I will. You'll be very happy." "I hoped so, too," answered the boy, "after I died, not before. I know the doctor is right, Oliver, for I have dreamed of heaven and angels many times, and dreamed of kind faces, such as I never saw in my waking hours. Give me a kiss," he climbed up the low door, and put his little arms around Oliver's neck. "Good-bye, my dear." .God bless you." This blessing came from the mouth of an immature child, but it was the first time in Oliver's life that he heard someone pray for him. He would go through many trials and tribulations in the future, full of ups and downs, but he did not forget it for a moment these words.