His hair had begun to gray, his belly had just begun to round. "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. No wonder that Trenchard, as he gazed at this fearful being, should have some misgivings cross him. Later, at the bottom of that envelope I found a letter. ‘You talk together of me as if I am not there. The day is already half over.
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