"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. “How odd that I should almost spring into your arms just on my doorstep!” she remarked gaily. For some time he could not stir, but felt sick and exhausted. God, Lucy, what’s it been, how many years?” “I’m so sorry, John. It was a letter.
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