"You forgets about repenting, and if I let yer bite him, you would brag about it.

It's safer without, Shovel." Perhaps it was.

"How long did I get in quod, then, Tommy ?" "Fourteen days." "So did you ?" Shovel said, with quick anxiety.
"I got a month," replied Tommy, firmly.
Shovel roared a word that would never have admitted him to the hall.
Then, "I'm as game as you, and gamer," he whined.
"But I'm better at repenting.

I tell yer, I'll cry when I'm repenting." Tommy's face lit up, and Shovel could not help saying, with a curious look at it: "You--you ain't like any other cove I knows," to which Tommy replied, also in an awe-struck voice: "I'm so queer, Shovel, that when I thinks 'bout myself I'm--I'm sometimes near feared." "What makes your face for to shine like that?
Is it thinking about the blow-out ?" No, it was hardly that, but Tommy could not tell what it was.

He and the saying about art for art's sake were in the streets that night, looking for each other.
The splendor of the brightly lighted hall, which was situated in one of the meanest streets of perhaps the most densely populated quarter in London, broke upon the two boys suddenly and hit each in his vital part, tapping an invitation on Tommy's brain-pan and taking Shovel coquettishly in the stomach.