He reached out a hand gropingly, sagged, and toppled out of the chair to the floor, where he lay very still. The Morning Post was hungry for governesses and nursery governesses, but held out no other hopes; the Daily Telegraph that morning seemed eager only for skirt hands. "Leave me, Sir; I insist. " "That boy'll never rest till he finds his vay to Bridewell," observed Sharples.
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