In one of the big gates was a little door, and she rapped at this. For most of a long and fluctuating night she was fairly confident that she would find work; she knew herself to be strong, intelligent, and capable by the standards of most of the girls she knew. "Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. Probably his first serious bout with John Barleycorn. ” “No, that’s okay. Compared with her father and Mr.
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