["[Event happened on 2024-01-01 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Oliver, being left to himself in the undertaker's shop, set the lamp\ndown on a workman's bench, and gazed timidly about him with a feeling\nof awe and dread, which many people a good deal older than he will be\nat no loss to understand. An unfinished coffin on black tressels,\nwhich stood in the middle of the shop, looked so gloomy and death-like\nthat a cold tremble came over him, every time his eyes wandered in the\ndirection of the dismal object: from which he almost expected to see\nsome frightful form slowly rear its head, to drive him mad with terror. Against the wall were ranged, in regular array, a long row of elm\nboards cut in the same shape: looking in the dim light, like\nhigh-shouldered ghosts with their hands in their breeches pockets. Coffin-plates, elm-chips, bright-headed nails, and shreds of black\ncloth, lay scattered on the floor; and the wall behind the counter was\nornamented with a lively representation of two mutes in very stiff\nneckcloths, on duty at a large private door, with a hearse drawn by\nfour black steeds, approaching in the distance. The shop was close and\nhot. The atmosphere seemed tainted with the smell of coffins. The\nrecess beneath the counter in which his flock mattress was thrust,\nlooked like a grave. Nor were these the only dismal feelings which depressed Oliver. He was\nalone in a strange place; and we all know how chilled and desolate the\nbest of us will sometimes feel in such a situation. The boy had no\nfriends to care for, or to care for him. The regret of no recent\nseparation was fresh in his mind; the absence of no loved and\nwell-remembered face sank heavily into his heart. But his heart was heavy, notwithstanding; and he wished, as he crept\ninto his narrow bed, that that were his coffin, and that he could be\nlain in a calm and lasting sleep in the churchyard ground, with the\ntall grass waving gently above his head, and the sound of the old deep\nbell to soothe him in his sleep. Oliver was awakened in the morning, by a loud kicking at the outside of\nthe shop-door: which, before he could huddle on his clothes, was\nrepeated, in an angry and impetuous manner, about twenty-five times. When he began to undo the chain, the legs desisted, and a voice began. 'Open the door, will yer?' cried the voice which belonged to the legs\nwhich had kicked at the door. 'I will, directly, sir,' replied Oliver: undoing the chain, and turning\nthe key. 'I suppose yer the new boy, ain't yer?' said the voice through the\nkey-hole. 'Yes, sir,' replied Oliver. 'How old are yer?' inquired the voice. 'Ten, sir,' replied Oliver. 'Then I'll whop yer when I get in,' said the voice; 'you just see if I\ndon't, that's all, my work'us brat!' and having made this obliging\npromise, the voice began to whistle. Oliver had been too often subjected to the process to which the very\nexpressive monosyllable just recorded bears reference, to entertain the\nsmallest doubt that the owner of the voice, whoever he might be, would\nredeem his pledge, most honourably. He drew back the bolts with a\ntrembling hand, and opened the door. For a second or two, Oliver glanced up the street, and down the street,\nand over the way: impressed with the belief that the unknown, who had\naddressed him through the key-hole, had walked a few paces off, to warm\nhimself; for nobody did he see but a big charity-boy, sitting on a post\nin front of the house, eating a slice of bread and butter: which he cut\ninto wedges, the size of his mouth, with a clasp-knife, and then\nconsumed with great dexterity. 'I beg your pardon, sir,' said Oliver at length: seeing that no other\nvisitor made his appearance; 'did you knock?' 'I kicked,' replied the charity-boy. 'Did you want a coffin, sir?' inquired Oliver, innocently. At this, the charity-boy looked monstrous fierce; and said that Oliver\nwould want one before long, if he cut jokes with his superiors in that\nway. 'Yer don't know who I am, I suppose, Work'us?' said the charity-boy, in\ncontinuation: descending from the top of the post, meanwhile, with\nedifying gravity. 'No, sir,' rejoined Oliver. 'I'm Mister Noah Claypole,' said the charity-boy, 'and you're under me. Take down the shutters, yer idle young ruffian!' With this, Mr.\nClaypole administered a kick to Oliver, and entered the shop with a\ndignified air, which did him great credit. It is difficult for a\nlarge-headed, small-eyed youth, of lumbering make and heavy\ncountenance, to look dignified under any circumstances; but it is more\nespecially so, when superadded to these personal attractions are a red\nnose and yellow smalls. Oliver, having taken down the shutters, and broken a pane of glass in\nhis effort to stagger away beneath the weight of the first one to a\nsmall court at the side of the house in which they were kept during the\nday, was graciously assisted by Noah: who having consoled him with the\nassurance that 'he'd catch it,' condescended to help him. Mr.\nSowerberry came down soon after. Shortly afterwards, Mrs. Sowerberry\nappeared. Oliver having 'caught it,' in fulfilment of Noah's\nprediction, followed that young gentleman down the stairs to breakfast. 'Come near the fire, Noah,' said Charlotte. 'I saved a nice little bit\nof bacon for you from master's breakfast. Oliver, shut that door at\nMister Noah's back, and take them bits that I've put out on the cover\nof the bread-pan. There's your tea; take it away to that box, and\ndrink it there, and make haste, for they'll want you to mind the shop. D'ye hear?' 'D'ye hear, Work'us?' said Noah Claypole. 'Lor, Noah!' said Charlotte, 'what a rum creature you are! Why don't\nyou let the boy alone?' 'Let him alone!' said Noah. 'Why everybody lets him alone enough, for\nthe matter of that. Neither his father nor his mother will ever\ninterfere with him. All his relations let him have his own way pretty\nwell. Eh, Charlotte? He! he! he!' 'Oh, you queer soul!' said Charlotte, bursting into a hearty laugh, in\nwhich she was joined by Noah; after which they both looked scornfully\nat poor Oliver Twist, as he sat shivering on the box in the coldest\ncorner of the room, and ate the stale pieces which had been specially\nreserved for him. Noah was a charity-boy, but not a workhouse orphan. No chance-child\nwas he, for he could trace his genealogy all the way back to his\nparents, who lived hard by; his mother being a washerwoman, and his\nfather a drunken soldier, discharged with a wooden leg, and a diurnal\npension of twopence-halfpenny and an unstateable fraction. The\nshop-boys in the neighbourhood had long been in the habit of branding\nNoah in the public streets, with the ignominious epithets of\n'leathers,' 'charity,' and the like; and Noah had bourne them without\nreply. But, now that fortune had cast in his way a nameless orphan, at\nwhom even the meanest could point the finger of scorn, he retorted on\nhim with interest. This affords charming food for contemplation. It\nshows us what a beautiful thing human nature may be made to be; and how\nimpartially the same amiable qualities are developed in the finest lord\nand the dirtiest charity-boy. Oliver had been sojourning at the undertaker's some three weeks or a\nmonth. Mr. and Mrs. Sowerberry--the shop being shut up--were taking\ntheir supper in the little back-parlour, when Mr. Sowerberry, after\nseveral deferential glances at his wife, said,\n\n'My dear--'  He was going to say more; but, Mrs. Sowerberry looking up,\nwith a peculiarly unpropitious aspect, he stopped short. 'Well,' said Mrs. Sowerberry, sharply. 'Nothing, my dear, nothing,' said Mr. Sowerberry. 'Ugh, you brute!' said Mrs. Sowerberry. 'Not at all, my dear,' said Mr. Sowerberry humbly. 'I thought you\ndidn't want to hear, my dear. I was only going to say--'\n\n'Oh, don't tell me what you were going to say,' interposed Mrs.\nSowerberry. 'I am nobody; don't consult me, pray. _I_ don't want to\nintrude upon your secrets.'\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-01, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-04 The user is reading a book]\n<User> As Mrs. Sowerberry said this, she gave an\nhysterical laugh, which threatened violent consequences. 'But, my dear,' said Sowerberry, 'I want to ask your advice.' 'No, no, don't ask mine,' replied Mrs. Sowerberry, in an affecting\nmanner: 'ask somebody else's.' Here, there was another hysterical\nlaugh, which frightened Mr. Sowerberry very much. This is a very\ncommon and much-approved matrimonial course of treatment, which is\noften very effective. It at once reduced Mr. Sowerberry to begging, as\na special favour, to be allowed to say what Mrs. Sowerberry was most\ncurious to hear. After a short duration, the permission was most\ngraciously conceded. 'It's only about young Twist, my dear,' said Mr. Sowerberry. 'A very\ngood-looking boy, that, my dear.' 'He need be, for he eats enough,' observed the lady. 'There's an expression of melancholy in his face, my dear,' resumed Mr.\nSowerberry, 'which is very interesting. He would make a delightful\nmute, my love.' Mrs. Sowerberry looked up with an expression of considerable\nwonderment. Mr. Sowerberry remarked it and, without allowing time for\nany observation on the good lady's part, proceeded. 'I don't mean a regular mute to attend grown-up people, my dear, but\nonly for children's practice. It would be very new to have a mute in\nproportion, my dear. You may depend upon it, it would have a superb\neffect.' Mrs. Sowerberry, who had a good deal of taste in the undertaking way,\nwas much struck by the novelty of this idea; but, as it would have been\ncompromising her dignity to have said so, under existing circumstances,\nshe merely inquired, with much sharpness, why such an obvious\nsuggestion had not presented itself to her husband's mind before? Mr.\nSowerberry rightly construed this, as an acquiescence in his\nproposition; it was speedily determined, therefore, that Oliver should\nbe at once initiated into the mysteries of the trade; and, with this\nview, that he should accompany his master on the very next occasion of\nhis services being required. The occasion was not long in coming. Half an hour after breakfast next\nmorning, Mr. Bumble entered the shop; and supporting his cane against\nthe counter, drew forth his large leathern pocket-book: from which he\nselected a small scrap of paper, which he handed over to Sowerberry. 'Aha!' said the undertaker, glancing over it with a lively countenance;\n'an order for a coffin, eh?' 'For a coffin first, and a porochial funeral afterwards,' replied Mr.\nBumble, fastening the strap of the leathern pocket-book: which, like\nhimself, was very corpulent. 'Bayton,' said the undertaker, looking from the scrap of paper to Mr.\nBumble. 'I never heard the name before.' Bumble shook his head, as he replied, 'Obstinate people, Mr.\nSowerberry; very obstinate. Proud, too, I'm afraid, sir.' 'Proud, eh?' exclaimed Mr. Sowerberry with a sneer. 'Come, that's too\nmuch.' 'Oh, it's sickening,' replied the beadle. 'Antimonial, Mr. Sowerberry!' 'So it is,' acquiesced the undertaker. 'We only heard of the family the night before last,' said the beadle;\n'and we shouldn't have known anything about them, then, only a woman\nwho lodges in the same house made an application to the porochial\ncommittee for them to send the porochial surgeon to see a woman as was\nvery bad. He had gone out to dinner; but his 'prentice (which is a\nvery clever lad) sent 'em some medicine in a blacking-bottle, offhand.' 'Ah, there's promptness,' said the undertaker. 'Promptness, indeed!' replied the beadle. 'But what's the consequence;\nwhat's the ungrateful behaviour of these rebels, sir? Why, the husband\nsends back word that the medicine won't suit his wife's complaint, and\nso she shan't take it--says she shan't take it, sir! Good, strong,\nwholesome medicine, as was given with great success to two Irish\nlabourers and a coal-heaver, only a week before--sent 'em for nothing,\nwith a blackin'-bottle in,--and he sends back word that she shan't take\nit, sir!' As the atrocity presented itself to Mr. Bumble's mind in full force, he\nstruck the counter sharply with his cane, and became flushed with\nindignation. 'Well,' said the undertaker, 'I ne--ver--did--'\n\n'Never did, sir!' ejaculated the beadle. 'No, nor nobody never did;\nbut now she's dead, we've got to bury her; and that's the direction;\nand the sooner it's done, the better.' Thus saying, Mr. Bumble put on his cocked hat wrong side first, in a\nfever of parochial excitement; and flounced out of the shop. 'Why, he was so angry, Oliver, that he forgot even to ask after you!' said Mr. Sowerberry, looking after the beadle as he strode down the\nstreet. 'Yes, sir,' replied Oliver, who had carefully kept himself out of\nsight, during the interview; and who was shaking from head to foot at\nthe mere recollection of the sound of Mr. Bumble's voice. He needn't haven taken the trouble to shrink from Mr. Bumble's glance,\nhowever; for that functionary, on whom the prediction of the gentleman\nin the white waistcoat had made a very strong impression, thought that\nnow the undertaker had got Oliver upon trial the subject was better\navoided, until such time as he should be firmly bound for seven years,\nand all danger of his being returned upon the hands of the parish\nshould be thus effectually and legally overcome. 'Well,' said Mr. Sowerberry, taking up his hat, 'the sooner this job is\ndone, the better. Noah, look after the shop. Oliver, put on your cap,\nand come with me.' Oliver obeyed, and followed his master on his\nprofessional mission. They walked on, for some time, through the most crowded and densely\ninhabited part of the town; and then, striking down a narrow street\nmore dirty and miserable than any they had yet passed through, paused\nto look for the house which was the object of their search. The houses\non either side were high and large, but very old, and tenanted by\npeople of the poorest class: as their neglected appearance would have\nsufficiently denoted, without the concurrent testimony afforded by the\nsqualid looks of the few men and women who, with folded arms and bodies\nhalf doubled, occasionally skulked along. A great many of the\ntenements had shop-fronts; but these were fast closed, and mouldering\naway; only the upper rooms being inhabited. Some houses which had\nbecome insecure from age and decay, were prevented from falling into\nthe street, by huge beams of wood reared against the walls, and firmly\nplanted in the road; but even these crazy dens seemed to have been\nselected as the nightly haunts of some houseless wretches, for many of\nthe rough boards which supplied the place of door and window, were\nwrenched from their positions, to afford an aperture wide enough for\nthe passage of a human body. The kennel was stagnant and filthy. The\nvery rats, which here and there lay putrefying in its rottenness, were\nhideous with famine. There was neither knocker nor bell-handle at the open door where Oliver\nand his master stopped; so, groping his way cautiously through the dark\npassage, and bidding Oliver keep close to him and not be afraid the\nundertaker mounted to the top of the first flight of stairs. Stumbling\nagainst a door on the landing, he rapped at it with his knuckles. It was opened by a young girl of thirteen or fourteen. The undertaker\nat once saw enough of what the room contained, to know it was the\napartment to which he had been directed. He stepped in; Oliver\nfollowed him. There was no fire in the room; but a man was crouching, mechanically,\nover the empty stove. An old woman, too, had drawn a low stool to the\ncold hearth, and was sitting beside him. There were some ragged\nchildren in another corner; and in a small recess, opposite the door,\nthere lay upon the ground, something covered with an old blanket. Oliver shuddered as he cast his eyes toward the place, and crept\ninvoluntarily closer to his master; for though it was covered up, the\nboy felt that it was a corpse. The man's face was thin and very pale; his hair and beard were grizzly;\nhis eyes were bloodshot.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-04, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-06 The user is reading a book]\n<User> The old woman's face was wrinkled; her two\nremaining teeth protruded over her under lip; and her eyes were bright\nand piercing. Oliver was afraid to look at either her or the man. They seemed so like the rats he had seen outside. 'Nobody shall go near her,' said the man, starting fiercely up, as the\nundertaker approached the recess. 'Keep back! Damn you, keep back, if\nyou've a life to lose!' 'Nonsense, my good man,' said the undertaker, who was pretty well used\nto misery in all its shapes. 'Nonsense!' 'I tell you,' said the man:  clenching his hands, and stamping\nfuriously on the floor,--'I tell you I won't have her put into the\nground. She couldn't rest there. The worms would worry her--not eat\nher--she is so worn away.' The undertaker offered no reply to this raving; but producing a tape\nfrom his pocket, knelt down for a moment by the side of the body. 'Ah!' said the man: bursting into tears, and sinking on his knees at\nthe feet of the dead woman; 'kneel down, kneel down--kneel round her,\nevery one of you, and mark my words! I say she was starved to death. I never knew how bad she was, till the fever came upon her; and then\nher bones were starting through the skin. There was neither fire nor\ncandle; she died in the dark--in the dark! She couldn't even see her\nchildren's faces, though we heard her gasping out their names. I begged\nfor her in the streets: and they sent me to prison. When I came back,\nshe was dying; and all the blood in my heart has dried up, for they\nstarved her to death. I swear it before the God that saw it! They\nstarved her!' He twined his hands in his hair; and, with a loud\nscream, rolled grovelling upon the floor: his eyes fixed, and the foam\ncovering his lips. The terrified children cried bitterly; but the old woman, who had\nhitherto remained as quiet as if she had been wholly deaf to all that\npassed, menaced them into silence. Having unloosened the cravat of the\nman who still remained extended on the ground, she tottered towards the\nundertaker. 'She was my daughter,' said the old woman, nodding her head in the\ndirection of the corpse; and speaking with an idiotic leer, more\nghastly than even the presence of death in such a place. 'Lord, Lord! Well, it _is_ strange that I who gave birth to her, and was a woman\nthen, should be alive and merry now, and she lying there: so cold and\nstiff! Lord, Lord!--to think of it; it's as good as a play--as good as\na play!' As the wretched creature mumbled and chuckled in her hideous merriment,\nthe undertaker turned to go away. 'Stop, stop!' said the old woman in a loud whisper. 'Will she be\nburied to-morrow, or next day, or to-night? I laid her out; and I must\nwalk, you know. Send me a large cloak: a good warm one: for it is\nbitter cold. We should have cake and wine, too, before we go! Never\nmind; send some bread--only a loaf of bread and a cup of water. Shall\nwe have some bread, dear?' she said eagerly: catching at the\nundertaker's coat, as he once more moved towards the door. 'Yes, yes,' said the undertaker,'of course. Anything you like!' He\ndisengaged himself from the old woman's grasp; and, drawing Oliver\nafter him, hurried away. The next day, (the family having been meanwhile relieved with a\nhalf-quartern loaf and a piece of cheese, left with them by Mr. Bumble\nhimself,) Oliver and his master returned to the miserable abode; where\nMr. Bumble had already arrived, accompanied by four men from the\nworkhouse, who were to act as bearers. An old black cloak had been\nthrown over the rags of the old woman and the man; and the bare coffin\nhaving been screwed down, was hoisted on the shoulders of the bearers,\nand carried into the street. 'Now, you must put your best leg foremost, old lady!' whispered\nSowerberry in the old woman's ear; 'we are rather late; and it won't\ndo, to keep the clergyman waiting. Move on, my men,--as quick as you\nlike!' Thus directed, the bearers trotted on under their light burden; and the\ntwo mourners kept as near them, as they could. Mr. Bumble and\nSowerberry walked at a good smart pace in front; and Oliver, whose legs\nwere not so long as his master's, ran by the side. There was not so great a necessity for hurrying as Mr. Sowerberry had\nanticipated, however; for when they reached the obscure corner of the\nchurchyard in which the nettles grew, and where the parish graves were\nmade, the clergyman had not arrived; and the clerk, who was sitting by\nthe vestry-room fire, seemed to think it by no means improbable that it\nmight be an hour or so, before he came. So, they put the bier on the\nbrink of the grave; and the two mourners waited patiently in the damp\nclay, with a cold rain drizzling down, while the ragged boys whom the\nspectacle had attracted into the churchyard played a noisy game at\nhide-and-seek among the tombstones, or varied their amusements by\njumping backwards and forwards over the coffin. Mr. Sowerberry and\nBumble, being personal friends of the clerk, sat by the fire with him,\nand read the paper. At length, after a lapse of something more than an hour, Mr. Bumble,\nand Sowerberry, and the clerk, were seen running towards the grave. Immediately afterwards, the clergyman appeared: putting on his surplice\nas he came along. Mr. Bumble then thrashed a boy or two, to keep up\nappearances; and the reverend gentleman, having read as much of the\nburial service as could be compressed into four minutes, gave his\nsurplice to the clerk, and walked away again. 'Now, Bill!' said Sowerberry to the grave-digger. 'Fill up!' It was no very difficult task, for the grave was so full, that the\nuppermost coffin was within a few feet of the surface. The\ngrave-digger shovelled in the earth; stamped it loosely down with his\nfeet: shouldered his spade; and walked off, followed by the boys, who\nmurmured very loud complaints at the fun being over so soon. 'Come, my good fellow!' said Bumble, tapping the man on the back. 'They\nwant to shut up the yard.' The man who had never once moved, since he had taken his station by the\ngrave side, started, raised his head, stared at the person who had\naddressed him, walked forward for a few paces; and fell down in a\nswoon. The crazy old woman was too much occupied in bewailing the loss\nof her cloak (which the undertaker had taken off), to pay him any\nattention; so they threw a can of cold water over him; and when he came\nto, saw him safely out of the churchyard, locked the gate, and departed\non their different ways. 'Well, Oliver,' said Sowerberry, as they walked home, 'how do you like\nit?' 'Pretty well, thank you, sir' replied Oliver, with considerable\nhesitation. 'Not very much, sir.' 'Ah, you'll get used to it in time, Oliver,' said Sowerberry. 'Nothing\nwhen you _are_ used to it, my boy.' Oliver wondered, in his own mind, whether it had taken a very long time\nto get Mr. Sowerberry used to it. But he thought it better not to ask\nthe question; and walked back to the shop: thinking over all he had\nseen and heard. The month's trial over, Oliver was formally apprenticed. It was a nice\nsickly season just at this time. In commercial phrase, coffins were\nlooking up; and, in the course of a few weeks, Oliver acquired a great\ndeal of experience. The success of Mr. Sowerberry's ingenious\nspeculation, exceeded even his most sanguine hopes. The oldest\ninhabitants recollected no period at which measles had been so\nprevalent, or so fatal to infant existence; and many were the mournful\nprocessions which little Oliver headed, in a hat-band reaching down to\nhis knees, to the indescribable admiration and emotion of all the\nmothers in the town.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-06, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-09 The user is reading a book]\n<User> As Oliver accompanied his master in most of his\nadult expeditions too, in order that he might acquire that equanimity\nof demeanour and full command of nerve which was essential to a\nfinished undertaker, he had many opportunities of observing the\nbeautiful resignation and fortitude with which some strong-minded\npeople bear their trials and losses. For instance; when Sowerberry had an order for the burial of some rich\nold lady or gentleman, who was surrounded by a great number of nephews\nand nieces, who had been perfectly inconsolable during the previous\nillness, and whose grief had been wholly irrepressible even on the most\npublic occasions, they would be as happy among themselves as need\nbe--quite cheerful and contented--conversing together with as much\nfreedom and gaiety, as if nothing whatever had happened to disturb\nthem. Husbands, too, bore the loss of their wives with the most heroic\ncalmness. Wives, again, put on weeds for their husbands, as if, so far\nfrom grieving in the garb of sorrow, they had made up their minds to\nrender it as becoming and attractive as possible. It was observable,\ntoo, that ladies and gentlemen who were in passions of anguish during\nthe ceremony of interment, recovered almost as soon as they reached\nhome, and became quite composed before the tea-drinking was over. All\nthis was very pleasant and improving to see; and Oliver beheld it with\ngreat admiration. That Oliver Twist was moved to resignation by the example of these good\npeople, I cannot, although I am his biographer, undertake to affirm\nwith any degree of confidence; but I can most distinctly say, that for\nmany months he continued meekly to submit to the domination and\nill-treatment of Noah Claypole: who used him far worse than before, now\nthat his jealousy was roused by seeing the new boy promoted to the\nblack stick and hatband, while he, the old one, remained stationary in\nthe muffin-cap and leathers. Charlotte treated him ill, because Noah\ndid; and Mrs. Sowerberry was his decided enemy, because Mr. Sowerberry\nwas disposed to be his friend; so, between these three on one side, and\na glut of funerals on the other, Oliver was not altogether as\ncomfortable as the hungry pig was, when he was shut up, by mistake, in\nthe grain department of a brewery. And now, I come to a very important passage in Oliver's history; for I\nhave to record an act, slight and unimportant perhaps in appearance,\nbut which indirectly produced a material change in all his future\nprospects and proceedings. One day, Oliver and Noah had descended into the kitchen at the usual\ndinner-hour, to banquet upon a small joint of mutton--a pound and a\nhalf of the worst end of the neck--when Charlotte being called out of\nthe way, there ensued a brief interval of time, which Noah Claypole,\nbeing hungry and vicious, considered he could not possibly devote to a\nworthier purpose than aggravating and tantalising young Oliver Twist. Intent upon this innocent amusement, Noah put his feet on the\ntable-cloth; and pulled Oliver's hair; and twitched his ears; and\nexpressed his opinion that he was a 'sneak'; and furthermore announced\nhis intention of coming to see him hanged, whenever that desirable\nevent should take place; and entered upon various topics of petty\nannoyance, like a malicious and ill-conditioned charity-boy as he was. But, making Oliver cry, Noah attempted to be more facetious still; and\nin his attempt, did what many sometimes do to this day, when they want\nto be funny. He got rather personal. 'Work'us,' said Noah, 'how's your mother?' 'She's dead,' replied Oliver; 'don't you say anything about her to me!' Oliver's colour rose as he said this; he breathed quickly; and there\nwas a curious working of the mouth and nostrils, which Mr. Claypole\nthought must be the immediate precursor of a violent fit of crying. Under this impression he returned to the charge. 'What did she die of, Work'us?' said Noah. 'Of a broken heart, some of our old nurses told me,' replied Oliver:\nmore as if he were talking to himself, than answering Noah. 'I think I\nknow what it must be to die of that!' 'Tol de rol lol lol, right fol lairy, Work'us,' said Noah, as a tear\nrolled down Oliver's cheek. 'What's set you a snivelling now?' 'Not _you_,' replied Oliver, sharply. 'There; that's enough. Don't say\nanything more to me about her; you'd better not!' 'Better not!' exclaimed Noah. 'Well! Better not! Work'us, don't be\nimpudent. _Your_ mother, too! She was a nice 'un she was. Oh, Lor!' And here, Noah nodded his head expressively; and curled up as much of\nhis small red nose as muscular action could collect together, for the\noccasion. 'Yer know, Work'us,' continued Noah, emboldened by Oliver's silence,\nand speaking in a jeering tone of affected pity: of all tones the most\nannoying: 'Yer know, Work'us, it can't be helped now; and of course yer\ncouldn't help it then; and I am very sorry for it; and I'm sure we all\nare, and pity yer very much. But yer must know, Work'us, yer mother\nwas a regular right-down bad 'un.' 'What did you say?' inquired Oliver, looking up very quickly. 'A regular right-down bad 'un, Work'us,' replied Noah, coolly. 'And\nit's a great deal better, Work'us, that she died when she did, or else\nshe'd have been hard labouring in Bridewell, or transported, or hung;\nwhich is more likely than either, isn't it?' Crimson with fury, Oliver started up; overthrew the chair and table;\nseized Noah by the throat; shook him, in the violence of his rage, till\nhis teeth chattered in his head; and collecting his whole force into\none heavy blow, felled him to the ground. A minute ago, the boy had looked the quiet child, mild, dejected\ncreature that harsh treatment had made him. But his spirit was roused\nat last; the cruel insult to his dead mother had set his blood on fire. His breast heaved; his attitude was erect; his eye bright and vivid;\nhis whole person changed, as he stood glaring over the cowardly\ntormentor who now lay crouching at his feet; and defied him with an\nenergy he had never known before. 'He'll murder me!' blubbered Noah. 'Charlotte! missis! Here's the\nnew boy a murdering of me! Help! help! Oliver's gone mad! Char--lotte!' Noah's shouts were responded to, by a loud scream from Charlotte, and a\nlouder from Mrs. Sowerberry; the former of whom rushed into the kitchen\nby a side-door, while the latter paused on the staircase till she was\nquite certain that it was consistent with the preservation of human\nlife, to come further down. 'Oh, you little wretch!' screamed Charlotte: seizing Oliver with her\nutmost force, which was about equal to that of a moderately strong man\nin particularly good training. 'Oh, you little un-grate-ful,\nmur-de-rous, hor-rid villain!' And between every syllable, Charlotte\ngave Oliver a blow with all her might: accompanying it with a scream,\nfor the benefit of society. Charlotte's fist was by no means a light one; but, lest it should not\nbe effectual in calming Oliver's wrath, Mrs. Sowerberry plunged into\nthe kitchen, and assisted to hold him with one hand, while she\nscratched his face with the other. In this favourable position of\naffairs, Noah rose from the ground, and pommelled him behind. This was rather too violent exercise to last long. When they were all\nwearied out, and could tear and beat no longer, they dragged Oliver,\nstruggling and shouting, but nothing daunted, into the dust-cellar, and\nthere locked him up. This being done, Mrs. Sowerberry sunk into a\nchair, and burst into tears. 'Bless her, she's going off!' said Charlotte. 'A glass of water, Noah,\ndear. Make haste!' 'Oh! Charlotte,' said Mrs. Sowerberry:  speaking as well as she could,\nthrough a deficiency of breath, and a sufficiency of cold water, which\nNoah had poured over her head and shoulders. 'Oh! Charlotte, what a\nmercy we have not all been murdered in our beds!' 'Ah! mercy indeed, ma'am,' was the reply. I only hope this'll teach\nmaster not to have any more of these dreadful creatures, that are born\nto be murderers and robbers from their very cradle. Poor Noah! He was\nall but killed, ma'am, when I come in.' 'Poor fellow!' said Mrs. Sowerberry: looking piteously on the\ncharity-boy.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-09, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-12 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Noah, whose top waistcoat-button might have been somewhere on a level\nwith the crown of Oliver's head, rubbed his eyes with the inside of his\nwrists while this commiseration was bestowed upon him, and performed\nsome affecting tears and sniffs. 'What's to be done!' exclaimed Mrs. Sowerberry. 'Your master's not at\nhome; there's not a man in the house, and he'll kick that door down in\nten minutes.' Oliver's vigorous plunges against the bit of timber in\nquestion, rendered this occurance highly probable. 'Dear, dear! I don't know, ma'am,' said Charlotte, 'unless we send for\nthe police-officers.' 'Or the millingtary,' suggested Mr. Claypole. 'No, no,' said Mrs. Sowerberry: bethinking herself of Oliver's old\nfriend. 'Run to Mr. Bumble, Noah, and tell him to come here directly,\nand not to lose a minute; never mind your cap! Make haste! You can\nhold a knife to that black eye, as you run along. It'll keep the\nswelling down.' Noah stopped to make no reply, but started off at his fullest speed;\nand very much it astonished the people who were out walking, to see a\ncharity-boy tearing through the streets pell-mell, with no cap on his\nhead, and a clasp-knife at his eye. Noah Claypole ran along the streets at his swiftest pace, and paused\nnot once for breath, until he reached the workhouse-gate. Having rested\nhere, for a minute or so, to collect a good burst of sobs and an\nimposing show of tears and terror, he knocked loudly at the wicket; and\npresented such a rueful face to the aged pauper who opened it, that\neven he, who saw nothing but rueful faces about him at the best of\ntimes, started back in astonishment. 'Why, what's the matter with the boy!' said the old pauper. 'Mr. Bumble! Mr. Bumble!' cried Noah, with well-affected dismay: and\nin tones so loud and agitated, that they not only caught the ear of Mr.\nBumble himself, who happened to be hard by, but alarmed him so much\nthat he rushed into the yard without his cocked hat,--which is a very\ncurious and remarkable circumstance: as showing that even a beadle,\nacted upon a sudden and powerful impulse, may be afflicted with a\nmomentary visitation of loss of self-possession, and forgetfulness of\npersonal dignity. 'Oh, Mr. Bumble, sir!' said Noah:  'Oliver, sir,--Oliver has--'\n\n'What? What?' interposed Mr. Bumble: with a gleam of pleasure in his\nmetallic eyes. 'Not run away; he hasn't run away, has he, Noah?' 'No, sir, no. Not run away, sir, but he's turned wicious,' replied\nNoah. 'He tried to murder me, sir; and then he tried to murder\nCharlotte; and then missis. Oh! what dreadful pain it is! Such agony, please, sir!' And here, Noah writhed and twisted his body\ninto an extensive variety of eel-like positions; thereby giving Mr.\nBumble to understand that, from the violent and sanguinary onset of\nOliver Twist, he had sustained severe internal injury and damage, from\nwhich he was at that moment suffering the acutest torture. When Noah saw that the intelligence he communicated perfectly paralysed\nMr. Bumble, he imparted additional effect thereunto, by bewailing his\ndreadful wounds ten times louder than before; and when he observed a\ngentleman in a white waistcoat crossing the yard, he was more tragic in\nhis lamentations than ever: rightly conceiving it highly expedient to\nattract the notice, and rouse the indignation, of the gentleman\naforesaid. The gentleman's notice was very soon attracted; for he had not walked\nthree paces, when he turned angrily round, and inquired what that young\ncur was howling for, and why Mr. Bumble did not favour him with\nsomething which would render the series of vocular exclamations so\ndesignated, an involuntary process? 'It's a poor boy from the free-school, sir,' replied Mr. Bumble, 'who\nhas been nearly murdered--all but murdered, sir,--by young Twist.' 'By Jove!' exclaimed the gentleman in the white waistcoat, stopping\nshort. 'I knew it! I felt a strange presentiment from the very first,\nthat that audacious young savage would come to be hung!' 'He has likewise attempted, sir, to murder the female servant,' said\nMr. Bumble, with a face of ashy paleness. 'And his missis,' interposed Mr. Claypole. 'And his master, too, I think you said, Noah?' added Mr. Bumble. 'No! he's out, or he would have murdered him,' replied Noah. 'He said\nhe wanted to.' 'Ah! Said he wanted to, did he, my boy?' inquired the gentleman in the\nwhite waistcoat. 'Yes, sir,' replied Noah. 'And please, sir, missis wants to know\nwhether Mr. Bumble can spare time to step up there, directly, and flog\nhim--'cause master's out.' 'Certainly, my boy; certainly,' said the gentleman in the white\nwaistcoat: smiling benignly, and patting Noah's head, which was about\nthree inches higher than his own. 'You're a good boy--a very good boy. Here's a penny for you. Bumble, just step up to Sowerberry's with your\ncane, and see what's best to be done. Don't spare him, Bumble.' 'No, I will not, sir,' replied the beadle. And the cocked hat and cane\nhaving been, by this time, adjusted to their owner's satisfaction, Mr.\nBumble and Noah Claypole betook themselves with all speed to the\nundertaker's shop. Here the position of affairs had not at all improved. Sowerberry had\nnot yet returned, and Oliver continued to kick, with undiminished\nvigour, at the cellar-door. The accounts of his ferocity as related by\nMrs. Sowerberry and Charlotte, were of so startling a nature, that Mr.\nBumble judged it prudent to parley, before opening the door. With this\nview he gave a kick at the outside, by way of prelude; and, then,\napplying his mouth to the keyhole, said, in a deep and impressive tone:\n\n'Oliver!' 'Come; you let me out!' replied Oliver, from the inside. 'Do you know this here voice, Oliver?' said Mr. Bumble. 'Yes,' replied Oliver. 'Ain't you afraid of it, sir? Ain't you a-trembling while I speak,\nsir?' said Mr. Bumble. 'No!' replied Oliver, boldly. An answer so different from the one he had expected to elicit, and was\nin the habit of receiving, staggered Mr. Bumble not a little. He\nstepped back from the keyhole; drew himself up to his full height; and\nlooked from one to another of the three bystanders, in mute\nastonishment. 'Oh, you know, Mr. Bumble, he must be mad,' said Mrs. Sowerberry. 'No boy in half his senses could venture to speak so to you.' 'It's not Madness, ma'am,' replied Mr. Bumble, after a few moments of\ndeep meditation. 'It's Meat.' 'What?' exclaimed Mrs. Sowerberry. 'Meat, ma'am, meat,' replied Bumble, with stern emphasis. 'You've\nover-fed him, ma'am. You've raised a artificial soul and spirit in\nhim, ma'am unbecoming a person of his condition: as the board, Mrs.\nSowerberry, who are practical philosophers, will tell you. What have\npaupers to do with soul or spirit? It's quite enough that we let 'em\nhave live bodies. If you had kept the boy on gruel, ma'am, this would\nnever have happened.' 'Dear, dear!' ejaculated Mrs. Sowerberry, piously raising her eyes to\nthe kitchen ceiling: 'this comes of being liberal!' The liberality of Mrs. Sowerberry to Oliver, had consisted of a profuse\nbestowal upon him of all the dirty odds and ends which nobody else\nwould eat; so there was a great deal of meekness and self-devotion in\nher voluntarily remaining under Mr. Bumble's heavy accusation. Of\nwhich, to do her justice, she was wholly innocent, in thought, word, or\ndeed. 'Ah!' said Mr. Bumble, when the lady brought her eyes down to earth\nagain; 'the only thing that can be done now, that I know of, is to\nleave him in the cellar for a day or so, till he's a little starved\ndown; and then to take him out, and keep him on gruel all through the\napprenticeship. He comes of a bad family.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-12, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-13 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Excitable natures, Mrs.\nSowerberry! Both the nurse and doctor said, that that mother of his\nmade her way here, against difficulties and pain that would have killed\nany well-disposed woman, weeks before.' At this point of Mr. Bumble's discourse, Oliver, just hearing enough to\nknow that some allusion was being made to his mother, recommenced\nkicking, with a violence that rendered every other sound inaudible. Sowerberry returned at this juncture. Oliver's offence having been\nexplained to him, with such exaggerations as the ladies thought best\ncalculated to rouse his ire, he unlocked the cellar-door in a\ntwinkling, and dragged his rebellious apprentice out, by the collar. Oliver's clothes had been torn in the beating he had received; his face\nwas bruised and scratched; and his hair scattered over his forehead. The angry flush had not disappeared, however; and when he was pulled\nout of his prison, he scowled boldly on Noah, and looked quite\nundismayed. 'Now, you are a nice young fellow, ain't you?' said Sowerberry; giving\nOliver a shake, and a box on the ear. 'He called my mother names,' replied Oliver. 'Well, and what if he did, you little ungrateful wretch?' said Mrs.\nSowerberry. 'She deserved what he said, and worse.' 'She didn't' said Oliver. 'She did,' said Mrs. Sowerberry. 'It's a lie!' said Oliver. Mrs. Sowerberry burst into a flood of tears. This flood of tears left Mr. Sowerberry no alternative. If he had\nhesitated for one instant to punish Oliver most severely, it must be\nquite clear to every experienced reader that he would have been,\naccording to all precedents in disputes of matrimony established, a\nbrute, an unnatural husband, an insulting creature, a base imitation of\na man, and various other agreeable characters too numerous for recital\nwithin the limits of this chapter. To do him justice, he was, as far\nas his power went--it was not very extensive--kindly disposed towards\nthe boy; perhaps, because it was his interest to be so; perhaps,\nbecause his wife disliked him. The flood of tears, however, left him no\nresource; so he at once gave him a drubbing, which satisfied even Mrs.\nSowerberry herself, and rendered Mr. Bumble's subsequent application of\nthe parochial cane, rather unnecessary. For the rest of the day, he\nwas shut up in the back kitchen, in company with a pump and a slice of\nbread; and at night, Mrs. Sowerberry, after making various remarks\noutside the door, by no means complimentary to the memory of his\nmother, looked into the room, and, amidst the jeers and pointings of\nNoah and Charlotte, ordered him upstairs to his dismal bed. It was not until he was left alone in the silence and stillness of the\ngloomy workshop of the undertaker, that Oliver gave way to the feelings\nwhich the day's treatment may be supposed likely to have awakened in a\nmere child. He had listened to their taunts with a look of contempt;\nhe had borne the lash without a cry: for he felt that pride swelling in\nhis heart which would have kept down a shriek to the last, though they\nhad roasted him alive. But now, when there were none to see or hear\nhim, he fell upon his knees on the floor; and, hiding his face in his\nhands, wept such tears as, God send for the credit of our nature, few\nso young may ever have cause to pour out before him! For a long time, Oliver remained motionless in this attitude. The\ncandle was burning low in the socket when he rose to his feet. Having\ngazed cautiously round him, and listened intently, he gently undid the\nfastenings of the door, and looked abroad. It was a cold, dark night. The stars seemed, to the boy's eyes,\nfarther from the earth than he had ever seen them before; there was no\nwind; and the sombre shadows thrown by the trees upon the ground,\nlooked sepulchral and death-like, from being so still. He softly\nreclosed the door. Having availed himself of the expiring light of the\ncandle to tie up in a handkerchief the few articles of wearing apparel\nhe had, sat himself down upon a bench, to wait for morning. With the first ray of light that struggled through the crevices in the\nshutters, Oliver arose, and again unbarred the door. One timid look\naround--one moment's pause of hesitation--he had closed it behind him,\nand was in the open street. He looked to the right and to the left, uncertain whither to fly. He remembered to have seen the waggons, as they went out, toiling up\nthe hill. He took the same route; and arriving at a footpath across\nthe fields: which he knew, after some distance, led out again into the\nroad; struck into it, and walked quickly on. Along this same footpath, Oliver well-remembered he had trotted beside\nMr. Bumble, when he first carried him to the workhouse from the farm. His way lay directly in front of the cottage. His heart beat quickly\nwhen he bethought himself of this; and he half resolved to turn back. He had come a long way though, and should lose a great deal of time by\ndoing so. Besides, it was so early that there was very little fear of\nhis being seen; so he walked on. He reached the house. There was no appearance of its inmates stirring\nat that early hour. Oliver stopped, and peeped into the garden. A\nchild was weeding one of the little beds; as he stopped, he raised his\npale face and disclosed the features of one of his former companions. Oliver felt glad to see him, before he went; for, though younger than\nhimself, he had been his little friend and playmate. They had been\nbeaten, and starved, and shut up together, many and many a time. 'Hush, Dick!' said Oliver, as the boy ran to the gate, and thrust his\nthin arm between the rails to greet him. 'Is any one up?' 'Nobody but me,' replied the child. 'You musn't say you saw me, Dick,' said Oliver. 'I am running away. They beat and ill-use me, Dick; and I am going to seek my fortune, some\nlong way off. I don't know where. How pale you are!' 'I heard the doctor tell them I was dying,' replied the child with a\nfaint smile. 'I am very glad to see you, dear; but don't stop, don't\nstop!' 'Yes, yes, I will, to say good-b'ye to you,' replied Oliver. 'I shall\nsee you again, Dick. I know I shall! You will be well and happy!' 'I hope so,' replied the child. 'After I am dead, but not before. I\nknow the doctor must be right, Oliver, because I dream so much of\nHeaven, and Angels, and kind faces that I never see when I am awake. Kiss me,' said the child,  climbing up the low gate, and flinging his\nlittle arms round Oliver's neck. 'Good-b'ye, dear! God bless you!' The blessing was from a young child's lips, but it was the first that\nOliver had ever heard invoked upon his head; and through the struggles\nand sufferings, and troubles and changes, of his after life, he never\nonce forgot it.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-13, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far."]
[{"question": "Summarize the content of the book I read from 2024-01-01 to 2024-01-13", "answer": "Oliver Twist, Noah Claypole, Charlotte, Mr. Sowerberry, Mrs. Sowerberry, Mr. Bumble, Dick, undertaker, workhouse, pane of glass, yellow smalls, children's funerals, mute mourner, parishioner's wife funeral, probation, apprenticeship, jealousy, avarice, hypocrisy, dinner time, torment, personal affront, mother taunt, violent fury, dust cellar, locked door, cocked hat, white waistcoat, flogging, starvation, gruel, battered child, coffins, cold night, few articles of clothing, affectionate farewell, misery, escape, defiance, rage, beatings, charity boy, known parentage, initiation, board members, practical philosophers, shambles of a home, graveyard, collapse, revival with cold water, locked out, rebellion, walk away, scenes of troubles"}]