" "Is Mr. She could not resist enduing persons she met with the noble attributes of the fictional characters. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. She slid her cheek down the tweed sleeve of his coat. " "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. She had not noticed such beauty in many years, and it almost caused her to weep.
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