It reminded her viscerally of her subhuman status, stripped away of the pretenses of art, intellect, and nicety. The blouse dried nicely, it would only need a touch of starch and a little ironing. "Well, Jack," said the prize-fighter, in a rough, but friendly voice, and with a cutand-thrust abrupt manner peculiar to himself; "how are you, lad, eh? Sorry to see you here. But all those empty years!… My heart was hot. It could not be she who had done this. Yet I fancy that we who have been poor ourselves must be the best judges of the needs of the people. From this sorrowful state he was aroused by a loud derisive whistle, followed by a still louder laugh; and, looking up, he beheld the impudent countenance of Jack Sheppard immediately before him. "The lash cuts to the bone.
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