"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. "Don't go, I beg of you!" she implored. I thought you understood. “I was surprised, I admit,” he said. I can see that you were somebody, in another day. It is safe. Every girl in the world practically, except a few of us who teach or type-write, and then we’re underpaid and sweated—it’s dreadful to think how we are sweated!” She had lost her generalization, whatever it was. Anna felt that her words had become charged with a fuller and more subtle meaning than any which she had intended to impart. There stood John and Mr.
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