"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. Why had he kissed her? What had led him into that? Neither love nor passion— utter blankness so far as reducing the act to terms. “Your sex is a terrible fraud. "Something's wrong.
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