"Do you call neglecting your work, and singing flash songs nothing? Zounds! you incorrigible rascal, many a master would have taken you before a magistrate, and prayed for your solitary confinement in Bridewell for the least of these offences. You know not what a wretched guilty thing I am. She had removed her hat and utterly disarranged her already unruly black locks by running agitated fingers through them. There'll be a fall of above twelve foot o' water, and think o' that on a night as 'ud blow a whole fleet to the devil. . He had said so. " Mr. 3.
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