"Do you call neglecting your work, and singing flash songs nothing? Zounds! you incorrigible rascal, many a master would have taken you before a magistrate, and prayed for your solitary confinement in Bridewell for the least of these offences. "Holloa—what's that?" cried Austin, starting up. "Where is it?" "Are you the mother of this child?" inquired the person who had first spoken, addressing Mrs. I've got an address here. "He will be murdered!—Help!" "My child!—my love!" cried Wood, dragging her forcibly back.
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