She plucked at the knots of her racket and heard him to the end, then spoke in a restrained undertone. “And I have dragged you all over here for nothing,” she murmured. "Do you call neglecting your work, and singing flash songs nothing? Zounds! you incorrigible rascal, many a master would have taken you before a magistrate, and prayed for your solitary confinement in Bridewell for the least of these offences. ” He paced the room for a minute or two restlessly. The lady's name's engraved inside, but so small I can scarcely read it. .
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