"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. He crawled underneath the covers with her. "'Odd's-my-life!—what's that?" he cried, greatly alarmed. Heaven alone knows why. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. You see, the trouble is that the matter is in dispute. At this moment she was staring ahead; and again came the opportunity to study her. ‘You have said you do not wish to hurt me. I'm about to leave this country for ever.
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