" "You'll never live to see that day," cried Blueskin, fixing a menacing look upon him. Miss Ellicot, who sang ballads, and liked Brendon to turn over the pages for her, tossed her head. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. I suppose that shocks one’s ideas.
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