"These writer chaps are queer birds. " He smiled at her as he smiled at death, cheerfully. ” “Why?” she asked. "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. Her eyes were fixed upon the ground, the pink colour coming and going in her cheeks was very delicate and girlish.
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