CHAPTER XIII. Baptist Kettleby (for so was the Master named) was a "goodly portly man, and a corpulent," whose fair round paunch bespoke the affection he entertained for good liquor and good living. Even her debt to him was a triviality now. "Mint! Mint!" "Death and hell!" cried Rowland, making a furious pass at the carpenter, who fortunately avoided the thrust in the darkness; "will nothing silence you?" "Help!" ejaculated Wood, renewing his cries. She came to befriend the female mistresses, some who were even so audacious as to bring their children into the house. What of that?" "Vot 'o that!" echoed Sharples, peevishly: "Everythin'. " "That boy'll never rest till he finds his vay to Bridewell," observed Sharples. Then her fingers moved. ’ Mrs Sindlesham sighed deeply. The small Diedermayer clan was a captive audience. “By Jove!” he exclaimed.
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