Chapter 28 Chapter Twenty Seven

(Apologizes for the rudeness of leaving a lady aside in the previous chapter.) It would be grossly impolite for an insignificant writer to have a man of so much importance, such as the rectory, with his back to the fire, with his coat hem rolled up under his arm, wait on the sidelines until the author pleases to let him rest.By the way, he also neglected a lady who had given the director a loving look, which is even more inappropriate for the author's identity or chivalry. The sweet words the director whispered in her ear just now have some It's very important, enough to make the hearts of ladies and wives of any level jump when they hear it.As the author of this biography, my pen is always on the tip of these words—I am very aware of my place, and have due respect for those in power—eager to show them the respect their position demands, and Districts have fulfilled all the etiquette that their noble status and (consequent) lofty character require the author to do.It is, indeed, for this purpose that the author has intended here to say something about the divine power of the rector, and to present a position that the rector is infallible, and will surely both please and gain the peace of mind of the reader.Unfortunately, however, due to time and space constraints, the author has to postpone this discussion until a more convenient and appropriate time, when I will demonstrate that a duly appointed officer-that is, a The parish clerk attached to the diocesan workhouse, who participates within the ecclesiastical affairs of the parish within its sphere of authority—by authority has all the virtues and excellences of man, while the general officer of a company, the clerk of the courts, or even the clerk of a chapel, has nothing to do with any of these advantages. The distance of the other species may still be hundreds of thousands of miles (with the exception of the last category, which is in a very humble position).

Mr. Bumble recounted the teaspoons, weighed the sugar-cube tongs again, made a more careful examination of the milk-pan, and was astonished as to the condition of the furniture, down to the horsehair cushions. —Once he had figured it out, the procedure was repeated six or seven times before he remembered that it was time for Mrs. Corney to come back.He was full of thoughts at the moment.The footsteps of Mrs. Corney's return were so inaudible that Mr. Bumble could not help thinking that looking through the contents of Mrs. Corney's cupboard, in order to further satisfy his curiosity, should be a harmless and moral diversion.

Mr. Bumble listened close to the keyhole, and being sure that no one was approaching the room, began at the bottom to learn the contents of the three long drawers: they were filled with clothes of every description, of every shape and quality. Sophisticated, carefully guarded with two layers of old newspapers and dotted with dried lavender, it seemed to give him particular satisfaction.He opened the drawer in the right-hand corner (where the key was) and saw a small locked box inside. He shook it, and there came out of the box a pleasant sound like the clink of gold coins.Mr. Bumble returned to the fireplace with a solemn gait, resumed his previous posture, and said with a serious and decisive expression: "That's it." After this important announcement was made, he shook his head in a strange manner for ten minutes, It was as if he was trying to persuade himself to be a lovable dog.Then he turned sideways, looked left and right at his legs, seemed very happy and interested.

While he was leisurely making the latter identification, Mrs. Corney hurried in and sank out of breath on the chair by the fire, covering her eyes with one hand and pressing the other on the On the chest, gasping for breath. "Mrs. Coney," said Mr. Bumble, stooping towards the matron, "what's the matter, ma'am? What's wrong, ma'am? You answer me, I'm sitting--" Bumble couldn't immediately think of the word "needle felt" and faltered with "broken bottle". "Well, Mr. Bumble!" exclaimed the matron, "I was so sick of it just now."

"Damned, ma'am!" exclaimed Mr. Bumble. "Who has the audacity to--? I see," said Mr. Bumble, with the restrained dignity that was inherent in him. "Must be the damn poor." "Just thinking about it is annoying." The matron trembled. "Don't think of it, ma'am," replied Mr. Bumble. "I can't help it," the lady sobbed. "What would you like, ma'am," said Mr. Bumble thoughtfully, "a little wine?" "That won't work," replied Mrs. Corney. "I can't drink—oh! In the top shelf on the right-hand corner—er!" said the respectable lady, pointing dreamily to the cupboard, Let out a spasm of inner panic.Mr. Bumble rushed to the closet, and following these breathless instructions, snatched from the shelf a green glass pint bottle, filled a teacup from its contents, and handed to the lady's lips.

"It's better now." Mrs. Corney drank half of her glass, then shrank back. Mr. Bumble looked up reverently at the ceiling and thanked Heaven.Then he moved his eyes down again, and landed on the rim of the teacup, and he held the cup up to his nose. "Mint," said Mrs. Corney feebly, looking at the rector with a smile. "Taste. Put a little--put a little of something else in there." Mr. Bumble tasted the drug with a half-believing air, smacked his lips, tasted more, and at last put down his empty teacup. "It's very comforting to drink," said Mrs. Corney.

"Comfortable indeed, ma'am," said the rector, drawing the chair beside the matron, and asking softly what had happened to upset her. "Nothing," said Mrs. Corney. "I'm an excitable, fragile, stupid woman." "Not fragile, ma'am," returned Bumble, moving the chair a little closer. "Mrs. Corney, are you a fragile woman?" "We are all vulnerable." Kony greatly moved out a general principle. "That's right," said the officer. Nothing was said between the two parties for a minute or two, at the end of which Mr. Bumble, to illustrate the idea, moved his left arm, which had been resting on the back of Mrs. Coney's chair, to Coney's. Mrs. Nee's skirt gradually wrapped around her waist.

"We are all vulnerable," Mr Bumble said. Mrs. Corney sighed. "Don't sigh, Mrs. Corney." "I can't help it," said Mrs. Corney, with another sigh. "It's a very comfortable room, ma'am." Mr. Bumble looked round. "It would be perfect if there was another one, madam." "It's too much for one person." The lady's voice was almost inaudible. "Two is not much," said Mr. Bumble softly. "Er, Mrs. Corney?" When the parish steward said this, Mrs. Corney's head drooped, and the steward looked down at Mrs. Corney's face.Mrs. Corney, turning her head gracefully to one side, reached for her handkerchief, and inadvertently placed her hand in Mr. Bumble's.

"The council has rationed you coal, hasn't it, Mrs. Corney?" said the steward, squeezing her hand affectionately. "And the candles." Mrs. Coney also greeted the pressure lightly. "Coal, candles, and no rent," said Mr. Bumble. "Oh, Mrs. Corney, you are an angel." Mrs. Coney could no longer resist such unrestrained emotion, and she fell into Mr. Bumble's arms.Excited, the gentleman pressed a passionate kiss on the tip of her chaste nose. "What parish fate," cried Mr. Bumble ecstatically. "Mr. Sloat has had a worse day, do you know, my beauty?"

"Yes." Mrs. Corney replied blushing. "The doctor says he won't live a week," continued Mr. Bumble. "He's head of the workhouse, and his death will leave a vacancy, a vacancy that must be filled. Oh, Mrs. Corney, What a wonderful future this event has opened up. What a great opportunity to connect two hearts and two families into one." Mrs. Ke Ji was sobbing. "Come on, that little word?" Mr. Bumble bent over the shy beauty. "That small, small, small and small word, my sweet Corny, say?" "Yes-yes-yes," said the matron with a sigh.

"Say it again," the officer did not relax, "gather up your precious feelings, and say it again. When will it be done?" Twice Mrs. Corney tried to speak, and both times she could not.At last she mustered up her courage, and threw her arms around Mr. Bumble's neck, saying that it was all up to him, and that he was "an irresistible duck." The matter was so loving and loving, and everyone was happy to finalize it.As a ceremony to solemnly sign the contract, the two of them poured another glass of peppermint mixture. The lady's heart was beating violently and she was extremely excited, so this glass of mixture was especially necessary.After the drink she told Mr. Bumble of old Sally's death. "Very well," said the gentleman, taking a sip of the peppermint. "Go into Sowerberry's when I get home, and tell him it'll be delivered in the morning. Is that what frightens you, my darling?" "Nothing in particular, my dear," said the lady evasively. "There must be something, my darling," insisted Mr. Bumble; "won't you tell your own old man?" "Let's not talk about that now," replied the lady, "for another day, when we are married, my dear." "When we're married!" cried Mr. Bumble, "is it some poor boy who has the audacity to—" "No, no, dear." The lady stopped hastily. "If I think it to be the case," went on Mr. Bumble, "if I think that any of them dares to raise his obscene eyes to this fair face—" "They're not so bold, sweetheart," echoed the lady. "They'd better not," said Mr. Bumble, clenching his fists. "I'd like to see if anyone, parish or not, dares to do such a thing, and I'll let him know that he won't." There is a second time." Without embellishing it with impassioned gestures, it would seem that this speech could hardly be regarded as a high compliment to the lady's charms, yet Mr. Bumble, with all the belligerent gestures that accompanied this threat, dared Mrs. Corney was so moved by this proof of devotion that she swore with admiration that he was indeed a delightful little pigeon. The pigeon turned up the collar of its coat, put on a three-cornered hat, hugged its future partner warmly for a long time, and went to face the bitter night wind again.He lingered for a few minutes in the male poor's asylum, cursing them, in order to reassure himself that he would fill the vacancy of director of the workhouse with the requisite acerbity.Mr. Bumble, confident of his competence, left the building, full of glamorous visions of his imminent promotion, from the building, and made his way to the undertaker's shop. Mr. Sowerberry and Mrs. Sowerberry were out at this time for tea and supper.Although it has passed the usual closing time, the shop has not yet closed. Noah Claypole has no intention of undertaking excessive physical exertion at any time, and only takes necessary actions when it is convenient to perform the two functions of eating and drinking.Mr. Bumble tapped a few times on the counter with his cane, but without attracting any attention, he saw a little light in the pane of the little parlour, and ventured a glance inside, to see what was going on there. .After seeing what happened, he was surprised. The dinner table had been laid, and the table was full of butter, bread, plates, wine glasses, a can of stout, and a bottle of wine.At the head of the table, reclining in an easy chair, Mr. Noah Claypole, with his legs crossed over the armrests, held in one hand a jack-knife open and in the other a A large loaf of buttered bread.Charlotte was standing next to him, taking the oysters out of a bucket and opening them, and Mr. Claypole, also very agreeable, swallowed the oysters with a considerable appetite.The young gentleman's nose was even redder than usual, and his right eye blinked and fixed in one place, suggesting that he was slightly drunk.The strong interest he showed when he swallowed oysters also confirmed this point, because he only knew that oysters had a certain cooling and antipyretic effect on the internal fire rising, and nothing else was enough to explain this point. "That's a nice fat one, Noah, my dear," said Charlotte. "Try it, try it, just this one." "The oatmeal is delicious," remarked Mr. Claypole, swallowing the oatmeal. "It's a pity if you don't feel well if you don't have a few, don't you, Charlotte?" "It's cruel," said Charlotte. "Isn't it?" echoed Mr. Claypole. "You don't like oysters?" "Not so much," replied Charlotte. "I like to watch you eat, dear Noah. It tastes better than eating it myself." "Yo." Noah said thoughtfully, "It's so strange." "Take another one," said Charlotte, "what a beautiful and tender beard this one is." "I can't take any more," said Noah. "Excuse me, come here, Charlotte, I want to kiss you." "Yes." Mr. Bumble burst in. "Sir, repeat." Charlotte screamed and hid her face in her apron.Mr. Claypole put his legs down, and with no other change in posture, he stared at the rector with drunken terror. "Again, you daring bastard," said Mr. Bumble. "You dare to mention such a thing, sir? You shameless mad girl, you still look like him? Kiss her." Mr. Bumble Filled with righteous indignation, he shouted, "Hmph." "I don't want to kiss her." Noah cried, "She always comes to kiss me, whether I like it or not." "Uh, Noah!" Charlotte exclaimed aggrievedly. "You are, and you know it yourself," Noah shot back. "Sir, she always does this, Mr. Bumble, touch my chin, and I'm sorry, sir, to make all kinds of affections." look." "Shut up!" snapped Mr. Bumble. "Get off downstairs, Miss. Noah, shut the shop door. Take care of your life if you dare say a word till your boss comes back. He As soon as you come back, tell him that Mr. Bumble said he would send an old woman's coffin over after breakfast to-morrow, sir, do you hear me? Dear!" Bumble threw up his hands and roared. "In this parish, the crimes and evils of the lower classes are terrible. If the parliament ignores their misdeeds, the country will go bankrupt, and the character of the peasants will be ruined forever." After finishing these words, the parish steward looked proud. And strode sullenly out of the undertaker's shop. We have walked a long way home with him, and all preparations are made for the old woman's funeral. Now let us inquire about Oliver Twister and see Toby Guerra Was he still lying in the gutter after Kit left him?