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Practice and improve writing style. Write like Charles Dickens

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Much he knew about peerless beauties, a mean, miserable idiot! I whispered Herbert.

 

Mrs. Joe, who always took explanations upon herself, said, snappishly, “Escaped. Escaped.” Administering the definition like Tar-water.

 

“And him you found?” said I, with great anxiety.

 

“Ay! There’s some of the birds flown from the cages. The guns have been going since dark, about. You’ll hear one presently.”

 

“Do you, Mr. Pip?” said Biddy. “I should have written if I had thought that.”

 

Oliver was awakened in the morning, by a loud kicking at the outside of the shop-door: which, before he could huddle on his clothes, was repeated, in an angry and impetuous manner, about twenty-five times. When he began to undo the chain, the legs desisted, and a voice began.

 

“I have saved you from being ill-used once, and I will again, and I do now,” continued the girl aloud; “for those who would have fetched you, if I had not, would have been far more rough than me. I have promised for your being quiet and silent; if you are not, you will only do harm to yourself and me too, and perhaps be my death. See here! I have borne all this for you already, as true as God sees me show it.”

 

“There’s somebody to speak to there, at all event,” he thought. “A good hiding-place, too. They’ll never expect to nab me there, after this country scent. Why can’t I lie by for a week or so, and, forcing blunt from Fagin, get abroad to France? Damme, I’ll risk it.”

 

“I have been a liar, and among liars from a little child,” said the girl after another interval of silence, “but I will take your words.”

 

“What’s the matter with the boy?” cried the doctor, as usual, all in a bustle. “Do you see anything—hear anything—feel anything—eh?”

 

A shiver ran through her frame, and from it through his. She said, in a low, distinct, awe-stricken voice, as if she were saying it in a dream,

 

“I understand the feeling!” exclaimed Carton, with a bright flush. “And you are the better for it?”

 

“Hah!” said the Marquis again, in a well-satisfied manner.

 

“—In as good stead to-morrow as to-day. But it may not be so. I own to you, I am shaken, Mr. Lorry, by Doctor Manette’s not having had the power to prevent this arrest.”

 

The young man had taken his hand gratefully; their hands were joined as the Doctor spoke:

 

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