Gerald sympathised with his friend’s irritation. " "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. It is but a wild threat. "I know you'll not deceive me. A sophisticated woman would have translated the tone as a caress. A familiar figure was making his way towards them. " "What do you mean?" asked the female, in astonishment. Racing, he reached it perhaps a moment or two later.
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