I loitered in the shop as you chatted with the butcher’s girl. Her girl, Clarice, was ten and just as pretty as a silver bell. The chamber, into which he stole, like all carpenters' workshops, was crowded with the implements and materials of that ancient and honourable art. ‘You’re the most troublesome wretch I’ve ever encountered,’ he told her bitterly. ” He turned to the waiter, who held a wine-card. "Will that do?" he added, returning it.
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