I do not know anything of him since I have fourteen years, and that he sent me to Blaye to be a nun. I have one shilling and sevenpence halfpenny left. I haven’t, anyhow. " "That boy'll never rest till he finds his vay to Bridewell," observed Sharples. I offered myself as a clerk, as a milliner, as a shop girl. The clouds were nearly black with rain, threatening to spill sleet in daggers and torrents. I was the last on board. He began munching his water-chestnuts—a small brown radish-shaped vegetable, with the flavour of coconut—that grow along the river brims. The imbecile. There is no other way.
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