His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away. The constable, Sharples, is in my pay. Idleness is the key of beggary, Jack. ’ ‘You would speak of the house?’ ‘Many’s the time little Miss Mary would say her papa meant for her to have it, she having no brothers and sisters at all—when we played together I mean, she and me and Joan Pottiswick. But what he could do or might do she could not imagine. .
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