“I have made no progress with my work,” she said slowly, “and the money was gone. With his foodle doo! This carpenter he had a wife, The plague and torment of his life, Who, though she did her husband scold, Loved well a woollen-draper bold. Why ain’t you gorn? Seems to me I had ought to arrest you. Anyhow, it were me as got you down to the wetnurse.
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