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A Rough Shaking by George MacDonald
page 103 of 412 (25%)
in his pocket ever since, wrapt in a piece of rose-coloured paper, his
one cherished possession: hunger deadening sorrow, the time was come
to bid it farewell. His heart ached to part with it, but Tommy and he
were so hungry!

They went to the door of the house, and knocked--first Clare very
gently, then Tommy with determination. It was opened by a matron who
looked at them over the horizon of her chin.

"Please, ma'am," said Clare, "will you give us a piece of bread?--as
large a piece, please, as you can spare; and I will give you this
piece of brown Windsor-soap."

As he ended his speech, he took a farewell whiff of his favourite
detergent.

"Soap!" retorted the dame. "Who wants your soap! Where did you get it?
Stole it, I don't doubt! Show it here."

She took it in her hand, and held it to her nose.

"Who gave it you?"

"My mother," answered Clare.

"Where's your mother?"

Clare pointed upward.

"Eh? Oh--hanged! I thought, so!"
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