"Here's the door. Anna, who had sung the first verse of her song, looked around the house, a little surprised at the absence of the applause which had never yet failed her. A grimy, battered object, which had no place in the fashionable quarter of town. "I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in Guildhall. “But you’re wrong. I made a wrong choice, it seems—but my voice remains. ‘I do not believe you. You have been to me like a mother, not only a wetnurse. CHAPTER II.
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