Then to Martin's brandy-shop, in Fleet Street. ” “Shirts?” “Shirts at one—and—something a dozen. 6. “But don’t you know about me?” he said at last. ‘Idiot!’ ‘Enough, now! Softly, you little termagant,’ he ordered, seizing her wrists to hold her off. That’s where you go wrong. How dare you use my name and sing my songs?” Anna looked at her sister in blank amazement.
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