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The benches running round the room, though fastened to the walls by iron clamps, had been forcibly wrenched off; while the table, which was similarly secured to the boards, was upset, and its contents—bottles, jugs, glasses, and bowls were broken and scattered about in all directions. Then to Martin's brandy-shop, in Fleet Street. During the previous night he had been restless; and in the lonely dragging hours his thoughts had raced in an endless circle—action without progress. Will you unlock that door?” “Never!” he said. All his interest in Ruth, all his care and solicitude, could now be translated into a single word—love.
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