I hope you won’t think less of me, you’ve treated me so well. Your mother, for instance, couldn’t. "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. Wood, furiously. Ennison reeled, and almost fell.
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