“John, I’m so hungry. After all, I fancy that I shall have to apply for a situation as a nursery governess who understands French. But he only went home again to Paddington. He wasn't quite hard enough to win worldly success; that was his fault. The villagers were thronging to church. They would be quite as entertaining as the histories of Guzman D'Alfarache, Lazarillo de Tormes, Estevanillo Gonzalez, Meriton Latroon, or any of my favourite rogues,—and far more instructive. I am too weak to aid you. I fancy that Sir John does not approve of me. And you don’t know what led to our separation. Wood, in equal trepidation. .
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