I shan't let you off a farthing. "Your son is a lad of spirit, Mr. "I was afraid it would be so. I know now what it is to be an abandoned female. His legs were dreadfully swelled; his hands bruised; and his fetters occasioned him intolerable pain. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. It reminded her viscerally of her subhuman status, stripped away of the pretenses of art, intellect, and nicety.
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