Trodger was lying in wait at the bottom of the narrow stairs. I worshipped her and subdued myself. In nearly every speech she heard was the same implication of great and necessary changes in the world—changes to be won by effort and sacrifice indeed, but surely to be won. “You little wretch!” she exclaimed weakly. She took to listening through closed doors. And mind he doesn't stir out of your sight, on any pretence whatever, till I call. “Is that plain?” she asked.
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