There were dark rims under her eyes, soft now with unshed tears. "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. There! You are trying to take your hand away. He returned, blue towel in hand. Get it off your soul.
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