E. As it is, I'm not sorry for the blunder. I fancy that this is a little more than playing at Bohemianism. "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 knew her well, Miss Mary?’ Mrs Ibstock turned at the window. "And now to dispose of our dead.
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