‘And it is not only a question of her identity, but a matter of her life as well. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. ‘We was of an age, you see, miss. Oh, it was very bad. And, mind! no prevaricating—nothing but the truth will satisfy me.
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