’ ‘The tables, they are turned, I think,’ she returned. You're alone, too, child. Boys, at the time of which we write, were attired like men of their own day, or certain charity-children of ours; and the stripling in question was dressed in black plush breeches, and a gray drugget waistcoat, with immoderately long pockets, both of which were evidently the cast-off clothes of some one considerably his senior. He had looked at it before without comprehension. " "Don't worry about that. \"Oh my word, Mike.
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