While he was stirring his tea, she ran and fetched the comb. And you have to thank her presence, hot-headed boy, that I do not chastise your insolence as it deserves. He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. White. And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band.
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