"Take a drop of brandy before we start, watchman," said Wood, pouring out a glass of spirit, and presenting it to Terence, who smacked his lips as he disposed of it. She thought of how tired she was, how exhausted, how hungry. “Look here! Aren’t you going a little too far? This—this is degradation—making a fuss with sleeves. Your history, your actions, nay, your very thoughts are better known to me than to your spiritual adviser.
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