'There's always more or less orange-peel on the pavement in our street; and I _know_ it's put there by the surgeon's boy at the corner.

A young woman stumbled over a bit last night, and fell against my garden-railings; directly she got up I saw her look towards his infernal red lamp with the pantomime-light.
"Don't go to him," I called out of the window, "he's an assassin! A man-trap!" So he is.

If he is not--' Here the irascible old gentleman gave a great knock on the ground with his stick; which was always understood, by his friends, to imply the customary offer, whenever it was not expressed in words.

Then, still keeping his stick in his hand, he sat down; and, opening a double eye-glass, which he wore attached to a broad black riband, took a view of Oliver: who, seeing that he was the object of inspection, coloured, and bowed again.
'That's the boy, is it ?' said Mr.Grimwig, at length.
'That's the boy,' replied Mr.Brownlow.
'How are you, boy ?' said Mr.Grimwig.
'A great deal better, thank you, sir,' replied Oliver.
Mr.Brownlow, seeming to apprehend that his singular friend was about to say something disagreeable, asked Oliver to step downstairs and tell Mrs.Bedwin they were ready for tea; which, as he did not half like the visitor's manner, he was very happy to do.
'He is a nice-looking boy, is he not ?' inquired Mr.Brownlow.
'I don't know,' replied Mr.Grimwig, pettishly.
'Don't know ?' 'No.

I don't know.