'And very grateful indeed, sir, for your goodness to me.' 'Good by,' said Mr.Brownlow, stoutly.

'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.Brownlow, with a slight shudder; 'a couple of glasses of port wine would have done him a great deal more good.

Wouldn't they, Tom White, eh ?' 'My name is Oliver, sir,' replied the little invalid: with a look of great astonishment.
'Oliver,' said Mr.Brownlow; 'Oliver what?
Oliver White, eh ?' 'No, sir, Twist, Oliver Twist.' 'Queer name!' said the old gentleman.

'What made you tell the magistrate your name was White ?' 'I never told him so, sir,' returned Oliver in amazement.
This sounded so like a falsehood, that the old gentleman looked somewhat sternly in Oliver's face.

It was impossible to doubt him; there was truth in every one of its thin and sharpened lineaments.
'Some mistake,' said Mr.Brownlow.