FALSE_NEGATIVE_examples.txt
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#1

Actual:
20 (He stirred the gin-and-water.) “I—I drink your health with cheerfulness, Mrs. Mann”; and he swallowed half of it.  “And now about business,” said the beadle, taking out a leathern pocket-book. “The child that was half-baptized Oliver Twist, is nine year old today.”  “Bless him!” interposed Mrs. Mann, inflaming her left eye with the corner of her apron.  “And notwithstanding a offered reward of ten pound, which was afterwards increased to twenty pound. Notwithstanding the most superlative, and, I may say, supernat’ral exertions on the part of this parish,” said Bumble, “we have never been able to discover who is his father, or what was his mother’s settlement, name, or condition.”  Mrs. Mann raised her hands in astonishment; but added, after a moment’s reflection, “How comes he to have any name at all, then?”  The beadle drew himself up with great pride, and said, “I inwented it.”  “You, Mr. Bumble!”  “I, Mrs. Mann. We name our fondlings in alphabetical order. The last was a S,—Swubble, I named him. This was a T,—Twist, I named _him_. The next one comes will be Unwin, and the next Vilkins. I have got names ready made to the end of the alphabet, and all the way through it again, when we come to Z.”  “Why, you’re quite a literary character, sir!” said Mrs. Mann.  “Well, well,” said the beadle, evidently gratified with the compliment; “perhaps I may be. Perhaps I may be, Mrs. Mann.”
21 He finished the gin-and-water, and added, “Oliver being now too old to remain here, the board have determined to have him back into the house. I have come out myself to take him there. So let me see him at once.”  “I’ll fetch him directly,” said Mrs. Mann, leaving the room for that purpose. Oliver, having had by this time as much of the outer coat of dirt which encrusted his face and hands, removed, as could be scrubbed off in one washing, was led into the room by his benevolent protectress.  “Make a bow to the gentleman, Oliver,” said Mrs. Mann.  Oliver made a bow, which was divided between the beadle on the chair, and the cocked hat on the table.  “Will you go along with me, Oliver?” said Mr. Bumble, in a majestic voice.  Oliver was about to say that he would go along with anybody with great readiness, when, glancing upward, he caught sight of Mrs. Mann, who had got behind the beadle’s chair, and was shaking her fist at him with a furious countenance. He took the hint at once, for the fist had been too often impressed upon his body not to be deeply impressed upon his recollection.  “Will _she_ go with me?” inquired poor Oliver.  “No, she can’t,” replied Mr. Bumble. “But she’ll come and see you sometimes.”  This was no very great consolation to the child. Young as he was, however, he had sense enough to make a feint of feeling great regret at going away. It was no very difficult matter for the boy to call tears into his eyes. Hunger and recent ill-usage are great assistants if you want to cry; and Oliver cried very naturally indeed. Mrs. Mann gave him a thousand embraces, and what Oliver wanted a great deal more, a piece of bread and butter, lest he should seem too hungry when he got to the workhouse. With the slice of bread in his hand, and the little brown-cloth parish cap on his head, Oliver was then led away by Mr. Bumble from the wretched home where one kind word or look had never lighted the gloom of his infant years. And yet he burst into an agony of childish grief, as the cottage-gate closed after him. Wretched as were the little companions in misery he was leaving behind, they were the only friends he had ever known; and a sense of his loneliness in the great wide world, sank into the child’s heart for the first time.  Mr. Bumble walked on with long strides; little Oliver, firmly grasping his gold-laced cuff, trotted beside him, inquiring at the end of every quarter of a mile whether they were “nearly there.”

Expected:
20 (He stirred the gin-and-water.)
21 “I—I drink your health with cheerfulness, Mrs. Mann”; and he swallowed half of it.
22 “And now about business,” said the beadle, taking out a leathern pocket-book.
23 “The child that was half-baptized Oliver Twist, is nine year old today.”
24 “Bless him!” interposed Mrs. Mann, inflaming her left eye with the corner of her apron.
25 “And notwithstanding a offered reward of ten pound, which was afterwards increased to twenty pound. Notwithstanding the most superlative, and, I may say, supernat’ral exertions on the part of this parish,” said Bumble, “we have never been able to discover who is his father, or what was his mother’s settlement, name, or condition.”
26 Mrs. Mann raised her hands in astonishment; but added, after a moment’s reflection, “How comes he to have any name at all, then?”
27 The beadle drew himself up with great pride, and said, “I inwented it.”
28 “You, Mr. Bumble!”
29 “I, Mrs. Mann. We name our fondlings in alphabetical order. The last was a S,—Swubble, I named him. This was a T,—Twist, I named _him_. The next one comes will be Unwin, and the next Vilkins. I have got names ready made to the end of the alphabet, and all the way through it again, when we come to Z.”
30 “Why, you’re quite a literary character, sir!” said Mrs. Mann.
31 “Well, well,” said the beadle, evidently gratified with the compliment; “perhaps I may be. Perhaps I may be, Mrs. Mann.”
32 He finished the gin-and-water, and added, “Oliver being now too old to remain here, the board have determined to have him back into the house. I have come out myself to take him there. So let me see him at once.”
33 “I’ll fetch him directly,” said Mrs. Mann, leaving the room for that purpose.
34 Oliver, having had by this time as much of the outer coat of dirt which encrusted his face and hands, removed, as could be scrubbed off in one washing, was led into the room by his benevolent protectress.
35 “Make a bow to the gentleman, Oliver,” said Mrs. Mann.
36 Oliver made a bow, which was divided between the beadle on the chair, and the cocked hat on the table.
37 “Will you go along with me, Oliver?” said Mr. Bumble, in a majestic voice.
38 Oliver was about to say that he would go along with anybody with great readiness, when, glancing upward, he caught sight of Mrs. Mann, who had got behind the beadle’s chair, and was shaking her fist at him with a furious countenance.
39 He took the hint at once, for the fist had been too often impressed upon his body not to be deeply impressed upon his recollection.
40 “Will _she_ go with me?” inquired poor Oliver.
41 “No, she can’t,” replied Mr. Bumble.
42 “But she’ll come and see you sometimes.”
43 This was no very great consolation to the child.
44 Young as he was, however, he had sense enough to make a feint of feeling great regret at going away.
45 It was no very difficult matter for the boy to call tears into his eyes.
46 Hunger and recent ill-usage are great assistants if you want to cry; and Oliver cried very naturally indeed.
47 Mrs. Mann gave him a thousand embraces, and what Oliver wanted a great deal more, a piece of bread and butter, lest he should seem too hungry when he got to the workhouse.
48 With the slice of bread in his hand, and the little brown-cloth parish cap on his head, Oliver was then led away by Mr. Bumble from the wretched home where one kind word or look had never lighted the gloom of his infant years.
49 And yet he burst into an agony of childish grief, as the cottage-gate closed after him. Wretched as were the little companions in misery he was leaving behind, they were the only friends he had ever known; and a sense of his loneliness in the great wide world, sank into the child’s heart for the first time.
50 Mr. Bumble walked on with long strides; little Oliver, firmly grasping his gold-laced cuff, trotted beside him, inquiring at the end of every quarter of a mile whether they were “nearly there.”

In CONTEXT:
(He stirred the
gin-and-water.) “I—I drink your health with cheerfulness, Mrs. Mann”;
and he swallowed half of it.

“And now about business,” said the beadle, taking out a leathern
pocket-book. “The child that was half-baptized Oliver Twist, is nine
year old today.”

“Bless him!” interposed Mrs. Mann, inflaming her left eye with the
corner of her apron.

“And notwithstanding a offered reward of ten pound, which was
afterwards increased to twenty pound. Notwithstanding the most
superlative, and, I may say, supernat’ral exertions on the part of this
parish,” said Bumble, “we have never been able to discover who is his
father, or what was his mother’s settlement, name, or condition.”

Mrs. Mann raised her hands in astonishment; but added, after a moment’s
reflection, “How comes he to have any name at all, then?”

The beadle drew himself up with great pride, and said, “I inwented it.”

“You, Mr. Bumble!”

“I, Mrs. Mann. We name our fondlings in alphabetical order. The last
was a S,—Swubble, I named him. This was a T,—Twist, I named _him_. The
next one comes will be Unwin, and the next Vilkins. I have got names
ready made to the end of the alphabet, and all the way through it
again, when we come to Z.”

“Why, you’re quite a literary character, sir!” said Mrs. Mann.

“Well, well,” said the beadle, evidently gratified with the compliment;
“perhaps I may be. Perhaps I may be, Mrs. Mann.” He finished the
gin-and-water, and added, “Oliver being now too old to remain here, the
board have determined to have him back into the house. I have come out
myself to take him there. So let me see him at once.”

“I’ll fetch him directly,” said Mrs. Mann, leaving the room for that
purpose. Oliver, having had by this time as much of the outer coat of
dirt which encrusted his face and hands, removed, as could be scrubbed
off in one washing, was led into the room by his benevolent
protectress.

“Make a bow to the gentleman, Oliver,” said Mrs. Mann.

Oliver made a bow, which was divided between the beadle on the chair,
and the cocked hat on the table.

“Will you go along with me, Oliver?” said Mr. Bumble, in a majestic
voice.

Oliver was about to say that he would go along with anybody with great
readiness, when, glancing upward, he caught sight of Mrs. Mann, who had
got behind the beadle’s chair, and was shaking her fist at him with a
furious countenance. He took the hint at once, for the fist had been
too often impressed upon his body not to be deeply impressed upon his
recollection.

“Will _she_ go with me?” inquired poor Oliver.

“No, she can’t,” replied Mr. Bumble. “But she’ll come and see you
sometimes.”

This was no very great consolation to the child. Young as he was,
however, he had sense enough to make a feint of feeling great regret at
going away. It was no very difficult matter for the boy to call tears
into his eyes. Hunger and recent ill-usage are great assistants if you
want to cry; and Oliver cried very naturally indeed. Mrs. Mann gave him
a thousand embraces, and what Oliver wanted a great deal more, a piece
of bread and butter, lest he should seem too hungry when he got to the
workhouse. With the slice of bread in his hand, and the little
brown-cloth parish cap on his head, Oliver was then led away by Mr.
Bumble from the wretched home where one kind word or look had never
lighted the gloom of his infant years. And yet he burst into an agony
of childish grief, as the cottage-gate closed after him. Wretched as
were the little companions in misery he was leaving behind, they were
the only friends he had ever known; and a sense of his loneliness in
the great wide world, sank into the child’s heart for the first time.

Mr. Bumble walked on with long strides; little Oliver, firmly grasping
his gold-laced cuff, trotted beside him, inquiring at the end of every
quarter of a mile whether they were “nearly there.” To these
interrogations Mr. Bumble returned very brief and snappish replies; for
the temporary blandness which gin-and-water awakens in some bosoms had
by this time evaporated; and he was once again a beadle.
