I knew where I would go next: Florence. She floundered deep. "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. ‘What mischief?’ ‘I don’t know, but I’ll go bail you’re at something. ‘Please to sit, monsieur. ‘She’s perfectly right. I want to boast myself.
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