At last she was roused. She had, it was true, accepted doubtfully the pen he had offered. " So saying, he closed the lantern. The sing-song girl rose and meekly pattered out of the office into the night. A quarter of an hour passed. ‘All right, Trodger. But the mere recognition of his son’s signature was enough to stoke the fires of his long-held rage. Edgeworth Bess and Poll Maggot are dying to see you.
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