" "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. I will wish you success or failure, whichever is the better for you. I feel beautiful. Some day I'm going to paint her; but that will be when I've retired. ‘She wormed it out of me, the little fiend. \" She said. This was no light conquest; nor was it a government easily maintained. ‘But the fact remains that you should not have enjoyed it, you were quite right to threaten to kill me, and I— God help me!—should not have kissed you at all.
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