“Don’t you have a wife? Where are your children?” She asked. “You seem to be taking our little joke more seriously than it deserves, Ferringhall,” he remarked. He renewed his supplications to Sharples, but with no better success than heretofore; and the greater part of the night was passed by him and the poor widow, whose anxiety, if possible, exceeded his own, in the most miserable state imaginable. It was Annabel who spoke. "I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in Guildhall. And to wish not is useless, because you have told me from when I was a little girl. Straitened circumstances would not have mattered; a mother would have managed somehow.
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