“How old are you?\" He looked at her engagingly. A piece of old blanket was fastened across her shoulders, and she had no other clothing except a petticoat. " "And were I in yours," rejoined the woollen-draper, "I should be doubly apprehensive, because he's a professed friend. "He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter. “Election be hanged!” he exclaimed.
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