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Chapter 7. The Child of the Marshalsea

           Therewasnoinstructionforanyofthemathome;butsheknewwell—noonebetter—thatamansobrokenastobetheFatheroftheMarshalsea,couldbenofathertohisownchildren.

           Tothesescantymeansofimprovement,sheaddedanotherofherowncontriving.Once,amongtheheterogeneouscrowdofinmatesthereappearedadancing-master.Hersisterhadagreatdesiretolearnthedancing-master’sart,andseemedtohaveatastethatway.Atthirteenyearsold,theChildoftheMarshalseapresentedherselftothedancing-master,withalittlebaginherhand,andpreferredherhumblepetition.

           ‘Ifyouplease,Iwasbornhere,sir.’

           ‘Oh!Youaretheyounglady,areyou?’saidthedancing-master,surveyingthesmallfigureandupliftedface.

           ‘Yes,sir.’

           ‘AndwhatcanIdoforyou?’saidthedancing-master.

           ‘Nothingforme,sir,thankyou,’anxiouslyundrawingthestringsofthelittlebag;‘butif,whileyoustayhere,youcouldbesokindastoteachmysistercheap—’

           ‘Mychild,I’llteachherfornothing,’saidthedancing-master,shuttingupthebag.Hewasasgood-naturedadancing-masteraseverdancedtotheInsolventCourt,andhekepthisword.Thesisterwassoaptapupil,andthedancing-masterhadsuchabundantleisuretobestowuponher(forittookhimamatteroftenweekstosettohiscreditors,leadoff,turntheCommissioners,andrightandleftbacktohisprofessionalpursuits),thatwonderfulprogresswasmade.

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