‘She wouldn’t tell me. "Too late, master," replied the landlord of the Trumpeter, in a surly tone, for he did not much like the appearance of his customer; "just shut up shop. She read on and on, now thrilled by the swiftly moving drama, now enraptured by the tender passages of love. He read but little, and that chiefly healthy light fiction with chromatic titles, The Red Sword, The Black Helmet, The Purple Robe, also in order “to distract his mind. Poor Ben was not so fortunate. "Come down stairs directly, and let your mother look at your wrist. The Master listened, with becoming attention, to the narrative, and, at its conclusion, shook his head gravely, applied his thumb to the side of his nose, and, twirling his fingers significantly, winked at his phlegmatic companion. Just as Hogarth got to the door, the turnkey stopped him.
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