He rolled onto his belly, freeing himself from her hands, pushing her away. " "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. Then, though full of confidence, he half doubted his power of accomplishing his designs. The air was thick with feelings. " He patted her hand. He heard Rollo's stump beat a gentle tattoo on the floor.
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