As he entered the shop, a tall portly personage advanced to meet him, whom he at once recognised as the present proprietor. "Do you call neglecting your work, and singing flash songs nothing? Zounds! you incorrigible rascal, many a master would have taken you before a magistrate, and prayed for your solitary confinement in Bridewell for the least of these offences. His hat was placed upon one pole, his wig on another. He sat down beside her and stroked her hair. Sir Rowland then fell.
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