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"'Sdeath!" cried Hogarth, aside to the poet. I—I am a lovesick idiot, and not accountable for my actions. When Claude Du Val was in Newgate thrown, He carved his name on the dungeon stone; Quoth a dubsman, who gazed on the shattered wall, "You have carved your epitaph, Claude Du Val, With your chisel so fine, tra la!" "This S wants a little deepening," mused the apprentice, retouching the letter in question; "ay, that's better. I loved her so much. ’ ‘I don’t even know your granddaughter, ma’am. "So, you young fool, I have found you!" she said, harshly. " Thames complied.
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