‘She wants you. "In spots you are a thoroughbred; but here's a black mark on your ticket, lad. " "That boy'll never rest till he finds his vay to Bridewell," observed Sharples. She looked down at him and saw that the sunlight was gleaming from his cheeks, and that all over his cheeks was a fine golden down of delicate hairs. ‘He could have little comfort there, indeed.
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