On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. ‘For God’s sake, let go my hand,’ he begged. “You would be wise to loosen your purse-strings, Gianfrancesco. God gives us an equal chance; but we make ourselves. “Yes. And I find I can't tell one stay from another!" McClintock laughed. " "Unpossible, master," rejoined Ben; "the tide's running down like a mill-sluice, and the wind's right in our teeth. You break into a gentleman’s residence —’ ‘I did not break in.
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