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"Close the door!" commanded Trenchard, impatiently. "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. . “He means nothing!” She whispered loudly. The place was crowded, and the people about her were almost equally made up of very goodlooking and enthusiastic young people and a great variety of Goopes-like types. “Accident! She shot me,” he muttered.
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