"Don't fire," cried the latter. ’ She thrust him into the aperture, and pushed the hilt of the sword into his hand. She turned there, clasped her hands behind her back and put up her chin. The slim knife was wrested from her grasp, and she was flung backwards, towards the bookcases. "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.
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