"By my shalvation, boy," he added, fiercely, "if you don't take your hande off my peard, I'll sthrangle you. "But I dread the effect your departure may have upon your poor mother. “What on earth did you expect me to do, then?” he asked. I've left mine on the spikes of the New Prison, and must borrow yours. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. He seemed to be labouring under some great excitement.
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