Notwithstanding her emaciation, her features still retained something of a pleasing expression, and might have been termed beautiful, had it not been for that repulsive freshness of lip denoting the habitual dram-drinker; a freshness in her case rendered the more shocking from the almost livid hue of the rest of her complexion. "Your faults were the faults of circumstances. His tongue was more ready, his wit more keen than usual. I'm not noble; so my honourable ancestors will not turn over in their graves. For aught I know, they may be in the neighbourhood at this moment. "Ah, I see it all!" he cried, with a quick glance. "What the devil makes you out so late? And what has happened to you, man, eh?—you seem in a queer plight. You'd not know what to do without me, and shan't drive me off. " "It wasn't the fumes of whisky that toppled him out of his chair.
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