"Mother—dear mother!" said Jack, bursting into tears. “It is hateful—diabolical!” he exclaimed. She read voraciously, and presently, because of her aunt’s censorship, she took to smuggling any books she thought might be prohibited instead of bringing them home openly, and she went to the theatre whenever she could produce an acceptable friend to accompany her. “It’s your birthday today, May Day. " "I'll ring for one," replied Kneebone, rising accordingly; "but I fear my servants are gone to bed. Sheppard had been interred.
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