He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. He said nothing, even though it was not raining. Kneebone, a woollen-draper in Wych Street, with whose pockets, it appears, Jack, when a lad, made a little too free. Norris says she's dying. Besides, I have my doubts that he is so very sick. It seemed as if all the precautions previously taken were here accumulated. " The phrase was new, but Ruth nodded understandingly. She reminded him of his linnet, when he gave the bird the freedom of the house: it became filled with a wild gaiety which bordered on madness.
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