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I

He was hardly fit to figure in the great review of life A boy of ten or

twelve, in tattered clothes, with an accordion in a case swung over one

shoulder like a sack, and under the other arrey squirrel It was a Dece to shelter his little body from the Northern cold but his

short velveteen jacket, red waistcoat, and knickerbockers He was going

ho fantastic

in his appearance, and of doubtful legality in his calling, he was

dipping into side streets in order to escape the laughter of the London

boys and the attentions of police to the Italian quarter in Soho, he stopped at the door of a shop

to see the tiht o'clock There was an hour to wait before

he would be allowed to go indoors The shop was a baker's, and the

as full of cakes and confectionery Frorid on the

paveround, the red

glow of the fire, and the scythe-like swish of the long shovels The boy