Well, I was all for dragging in Bow Street there and then, and getting the pair of those fraudsters thrown in gaol. She acted as her mother had taught her to. You can’t go. I sha'n't cry any more. If Jack should die, all though her fault, she could never forgive herself. A crowd was collected round the fellow, who was rapidly disposing of his stock. “Who’ll mind the baby nar?” was one of the night’s inspirations, and very frequent. And a ballot-box—” Her face assumed an expression of intellectual conflict.
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