\"Oh. You must know, Sir, when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time,—that he did, the heathen. The world isn't real yet; she hasn't comparisons by which to govern her acts. They took her fingerprints sitting at the gray metal desk of Officer Nolte, the virile young buck who had brought her in. There were the burnt papers still in the grate.
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