"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. Listen to your mother's prayers, and do not let her die brokenhearted. ‘What are the chances, do you think, of that thing being already cocked?’ ‘Probably not even loaded,’ suggested Hilary hopefully. Lucy propped Michelle against a thick, knobby tree stump. " "That is to say, you wish you had let me die?" "That was the thought.
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