And then, for the first time, Wood noticed a small stream of blood coursing slowly down her cheek. "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. “My dear Miss Pellissier,” he said impressively, “this is an unexpected pleasure. Was there ever such madness?” “I am afraid that I don’t understand,” Ennison answered. " "Don't be angry with me, Sir," cried the widow, sobbing bitterly, "pray don't. "Oh! nothin' partickler—mere curossity," replied Terence. Sheppard. "You have lived over here?"—astonished.
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