“How did you find me?” He asked. The passion of pent-up speech compelled action of some sort. "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. There was the same airy grace of movement, the same deep brown hair and alabaster skin. Wood, who had merely absented himself to see that a public breakfast, which he had ordered at the Six Bells for all who chose to partake of it, was in readiness.
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