There's my thumb upon it. "Now, then, Saint Giles!" interposed Sheppard, "are we to be kept here all night?" "Eh day!" exclaimed Sharples: "wot new-fledged bantam's this?" "One that wants to go to roost," replied Sheppard. She turned up dead after about eight weeks and it broke my heart. ‘You, soldiers,’ she yelled. ‘Poor Gerald has been very busy about your affairs this last week.
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