"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. "Be still!" "Oh, come along! I've just got to have my muck bath. My goodness gracious. You creep around in a nun’s habit, peering into a private ballroom.
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