"'Sdeath! do you trifle with me, sirrah?" cried Rowland fiercely. She did not want to feel such negative emotion towards any member of her foster family. ‘The man’s gone,’ her old nurse told her, when she had recovered a little. “I thought you weren’t getting along so well with your mother these days. On the right, stood a bulky figure, with a broken rattle hanging out of his great-coat pocket, who held up a lantern to his battered countenance to prove to the spectators that both his orbs of vision were darkened: on the left, a meagre constable had divested himself of his shirt, to bind up with greater convenience a gaping cut in the arm. Never bought a shirt in my life, Mr.
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