‘Who is that man? What has he to do with you? No, don’t tell me. Trodger was lying in wait at the bottom of the narrow stairs. " "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. But, it can't be helped. “Are you cold?” He asked her, cocking his head to one side like a puppy, so close that the heat of his words warmed her cheek. The candle was shaking in his hand as Ruth appeared in the doorway.
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