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The master turned slightly, jiggled his stomach, said "hibb-ibibib-bbib", coughed, opened his eyes wide, closed them slightly, then opened his eyes even wider in disgust, surprise, anger, jealousy, and contempt. ...and anger.
"You wan' moh? In my twelve weeks of working in this establishmen', none has EVAH asked for moh! Wha' would a hungry orphan such as yo'self do wi' moh? Wah would ya do with moh? Wouldst thou trade thine excess upon the streets? Youh too ugly fo' that, Olivah. Youh hideous and uglah! Nah master would give you moh! Tis preposterous to ask for moh!"
Oliver stood there, defeated again. His stomach growled so loudly that it was obnoxious. Oliver could only dream about swimming in an ocean of gruel, accompanied by a friendly, wisecracking gruel seal, traveling to the land of infinite gruel, where Oliver could waste time eating as much gruel as he wanted! Oh how he wanted to partake of so much gruel; Gruel pouring into every orifice of which Oliver was capable! If only the master would award him the very opportunity...