CHAPTER XVII. The idea of Ruth as a talisman against misfortune—which he now recognized as a sick man's idea— faded as his appreciation of the absurd reasserted itself. " "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. " "This is folly," cried Jack, controlling himself by a powerful effort. The intoxicating sense of novelty had given place to a more business-like mood.
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