"I knew how it would be," she cried, in the shrill voice peculiar to a shrew, "when you brought that worthless hussy's worthless brat into the house. I think that I have become a drug drinker. "You are a paragon of prudence and discretion," rejoined the woollen-draper, drawing his chair closer to hers. Mrs. ‘Don’t fob me off, boy.
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