"I shall need little more. "I can't hold it much longer—it'll break my wrist. His food lay untouched about his plate. And by degrees, perhaps, that maiden distrust of yours that makes you shrink from my kisses, will vanish. CHAPTER XII. Balanced on his nose were enormous tortoise-shell spectacles. Then he understood. But with the skill of a fencer he met the blow and broke it, seizing the wrist. " "That boy'll never rest till he finds his vay to Bridewell," observed Sharples.
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