" "That reminds me he's still at large," returned Ireton. "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. "I've won, after all. Fly! fly!" "Do not think of me, mother, but of yourself," cried Jack, in an agony of tears.
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