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“I”—he seemed to have a difficulty with the word—“I love you. Anna glanced into her sister’s face, and rose to her feet. White. "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. I've despatched him to the New Prison. She had learned this art in skirts, and knew well how not to be disadvantaged.
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