“I don’t see what he has to do with my coming to London?” “He—he worships the ground you tread on. But we wished to ascertain whether Mrs. Jack had brought away the bunch of keys which he had taken from Quilt Arnold, but, none of them would open it. " "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. His eyes looked a little bloodshot to her; his face had lost something of its ruddy freshness. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. He stopped, panting hard, slamming his cane to the floor to make use of its much-needed support.
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