"Yours is a face I don't remember running foul of before, my young beauty.

Where did you come from ?" "Where I seem like to be goin' now you've got your currant-pickers on me--Hell," answered the boy, with something like a sigh of despair.
"Leastways, I been in Hell ever since I can remember anyfink, so I reckon I must have come from there." "What's your name ?" "Dollops.

S'pose I must a had another sometime, but I never heard of it.
Wot's that?
Yuss--most nineteen.

_Wot ?_ Oh, go throw summink at yourself! I aren't too young to be 'ungry, am I?
And where's a cove goin' to _find_ this 'ere 'honest work' you're a-talkin' of?
I'm fair sick of the gime of lookin' for it.

Besides, you don't see parties as goes in for the other thing walkin' round with ribs on 'em like bed-slats, and not even the price of a cup of corfy in their pockets, do you?
No fear! I wouldn't've 'urt the young lydie; but I tell you strite, I'd a took every blessed farthin' she 'ad on her if you 'adn't've dropped on me like this." "Got down to the last ditch--down to the point of desperation, eh ?" "Yuss.