"But don't wait for me, Sir Cecil. His vocal collection comprised a couple of flash songs pasted against the wall, entitled 'The Thief-Catcher's Prophecy,' and the 'Life and Death of the Darkman's Budge;' while his extraordinary mechanical skill was displayed in what he termed (Jack had a supreme contempt for orthography,) a 'Moddle of his Mas. You were with your mother, the two of you huddled like thieves, laughing at the silly women who tried to shield themselves from rain by cowering under empty baskets and shawls. She gulped for air merely, for it had been difficult to breathe with his hand almost cutting off the supply to her lungs. " "You may see the marks on the child yourself, if you choose, Sir," urged the widow.
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