Oliver had been sojourning at the undertaker’s some three weeks or a month. Mr. and Mrs. Sowerberry⁠—the shop being shut up⁠—were taking their supper in the little back-parlour, when Mr. Sowerberry, after several deferential glances at his wife, said,

“My dear⁠—” He was going to say more; but, Mrs. Sowerberry looking up, with a peculiarly unpropitious aspect, he stopped short.

“Well,” said Mrs. Sowerberry, sharply.

“Nothing, my dear, nothing,” said Mr. Sowerberry.