In the nineteenth century England, when the industrial revolution was just beginning, the employees of the street and the pretext of protecting the cold, were taken to work during the strenuous days to their workshops.
One of those children, the well-known of the street, and who worked only for a piece of bread, was particularly beautiful. He looked like an angel of the Renaissance, with his sky blue eyes, and his golden loops.
The owner of the factory, which had a warehouse, which had a warehouse so that, in the showcase, attending to the ladies, attracted more customers. The owner of my noble family.
The boy entered into that game of lies, and told everyone who lived in a nearby mansion.
But one day the child became ill, and his employer was carried out. The boy, to deceive the worker, began to walk towards the richest places in the city, and when he saw a mansion, he said that he lived there, and crossed the port.
Then the butler came out of that house, and kicked it out. Sick, lost, and with fever, that divine child until the early morning until he found the jail, where he lived with his family because his father had no power to pay the debts.
Charles Dickens and, over the years, have become one of the most important English writers of all time.
This story was originally written by my friend Ramiro Díez in Diario EL TELÉGRAFO under the following address: http://www.radiolavida.com/ramirodiez/7-de-febrero/#sthash.YPUC4x0T.dpbs If you are going to use it, please quote our source and place a link to the original note. www.eltelegrafo.com.ec
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