Epilogue

A few months later, a bakery opened on Elm Street. It wasn't in the upper part of town, but it wasn't on the lower side of London, either. It was right in the middle. Ownership belonged to a young couple, who went by the names of Mr. and Mrs. Dodger. All day, they baked bread and sold it, and the shop was immensely popular.

Their wedding had taken place very recently, at a small church that perfectly suited everybody. It was not reported about, but it was an occasion, to be sure. There was a small group of high society women with modernistic views, some very old friends, and strangely, a large amount of young boys cheering loudly.

They were incredibly happy with each other, and with their way of life. In a few weeks, young Mrs. Dodger will tell her husband that she is expecting, and in the years to come their children would give them great joy. And if ever a young, dirty lad from the street tried to steal anything, the Mr. or Mrs. would always ask them quietly about their parents, and if they wished to have somewhere to sleep in the company of other children their age, and a certain Mr. Fagin.

On their wedding anniversary in years to come, their children would always beg to hear the same story, and with a twinkle in his eyes, Mr. Dodger would always tell his children about how, one day, he followed an extraordinary woman into an alleyway to steal her money, and ended up with more than he could've ever imagined. But when they would ask their mother to hear the story, she would sit quietly, and hold them riveted with her account of the Artful Dodger.