If you assume the character of a debtor for your own convenience, you must be content to maintain it for ours. "You will never leave me," sobbed the poor woman, straining him to her breast. “And as for praying for faith—this sort of monologue is about as near as any one of my sort ever gets to prayer. "Do you take me for a thiefcatcher, like Jonathan Wild, that you dare to affront me by such a proposal?" "No offence, Sir," rejoined the jailer, humbly. “Well, I don’t know,” she said thoughtfully. “Yes?” “You remember once, how we talked—at a gate on the Downs? We talked about how a girl might get an independent living. As they left Florence, dying men and women still scrabbled through the streets, screams emanating from the rows of houses, beggars running up to the horses, sick children in their arms, their eyes bleeding, their noses running, begging to join them in their journey out. “I feel shabby and disgraced.
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