A very little boy stood upon a heap of gravel for the honor of Rum Alley He was throwing stones at howling urchins from Devils Row who were circling madly about the heap and pelting at him
His infantile countenance was livid with fury His small body was writhing in the delivery of great crimson oaths
Run Jimmie run Deyll get yehs screamed a retreating Rum Alley child
Naw responded Jimmie with a valiant roar dese micks cant make me run
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