Boys, at the time of which we write, were attired like men of their own day, or certain charity-children of ours; and the stripling in question was dressed in black plush breeches, and a gray drugget waistcoat, with immoderately long pockets, both of which were evidently the cast-off clothes of some one considerably his senior. “Called myself Anna,” the girl repeated coolly. “My charm of manner, I suppose. The occasion is worth a dash of the grape, lad. “You’ll be there, right?” She asked, hearing his breathing audibly jump.
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