Hope you ate light before you got here. "The ban-dogs!" thundered a tall man, whose stature and former avocations had procured him the nickname of "The long drover of the Borough market. Dese ere not schouts, as you faind, but jonkers on a vrolyk; and if dey'd chanshed to keel de vrow Sheppard's pet lamb, dey'd have done her a servish, by shaving it from dat unpleasant complaint, de hempen fever, with which its laatter days are threatened, and of which its poor vader died. Her naked body was an abomination of caked filth and sagging tubes for breasts. But at this, he halted, turning his frowning gaze back on her. A married man!—the kind I've never been able to lure down there! But keep your temper in check. It is like some accident. .
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