He began a jerky, broken conversation that lasted until they reached the station, and left her puzzled at its drift and meaning. "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. I seek chaos, but not out of choice. The Pursuit.
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