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“Who’ll mind the baby nar?” was one of the night’s inspirations, and very frequent. . Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. "'Sdeath!" cried Hogarth, aside to the poet. “Are you cold?” He asked her, cocking his head to one side like a puppy, so close that the heat of his words warmed her cheek. "Aha!" exclaimed Jack, with a roguish wink, "I've caught you,—have I?" The carpenter's daughter was fair and free— Fair, and fickle, and false, was she! She slighted the journeyman, (meaning me!) And smiled on a gallant of high degree.
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