He first met her when he had caught her smoking behind the Joliet LaudrO-Matic one cool overcast day in late August. "I'm afraid, Jack, you'll come to the gallows," observed the smith; "buth if you do, I'll go to Tyburn to see you. I'd like to shake you until your bones rattled; but the bones of a Roundhead wouldn't rattle to any purpose. We’ll find a way to survive. Monsieur could rely upon his special attention, and for the cooking—well, he had his customers, who came from their homes to him year after year. "Your son," answered the boy.
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