From time to time the man below would shout, and the boy would let the threads go with the snap of a harpist, only to recover them instantly. ‘Burned them, one by one, right before that fellow’s eyes. Anna jumped into a waiting hansom. He was a philosopher. With his foodle doo! This carpenter he had a wife, The plague and torment of his life, Who, though she did her husband scold, Loved well a woollen-draper bold. Then she reverted to the trousers.
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