" "Take a glass of gin, Ma'am," cried Poll Maggot, holding up a bottle of spirit; "it used to be your favourite liquor, I've heard. When the paroxysm passed, he was forced to lean against the window-jamb for support. The thief-taker's throat was bound up with thick folds of linen, and his face had a ghastly and cadaverous look, which communicated an undefinable and horrible expression to his glances. There sprang from that a vague hope that perhaps she might extort a capitulation from her father by a threat to seek that position, and then with overwhelming clearness it came to her that whatever happened she would never be able to tell her father about her debt. He was beginning to think about her inordinately. ‘You will not believe any of my very clever lies. Beethoven; he’s the best of them. Soot was everywhere, for the lamp would not stay trimmed in the gale. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. She was a lovely girl, attired in deep mourning, and having an expression of profound sorrow on her charming features. “There’s endless reasons, no doubt, why we shouldn’t,” he said. ” She put her face closer to his.
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