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"Oh, you're right sah. I don' want any moh." Oliver said, indignant.
"W-Wut?" the master said, slightly confused.
"I don' wan' any moh of yah slop sah!" Oliver said, even louder.
"Wut? I- I don'..."
"I don' wan' yah horrible, horrible slop, YOU FILTHY OLD MAN!!" Oliver's strength was returning to him, as he started to stare down the Master.
"Nah calm down, yah cheeky l'il..."
Just at that moment, Oliver's hunger got the better of him, and he lunged at the Master's finger, hungrily devouring it until the master lay on the floor, motionless. The rest of the boys, startled and confused, gradually formed a line in front of the master's torn body, each nibbling off a little piece, until Scotland Yard could no longer identify the body. Now aren't you the artful dodger...
... and in true orphan fashion, you get no reward for winning the game.