" "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. In seconds, they faced each other before the altar. He obeyed, letting the garment fall to the floor. “Some day you will be my wife, and it would not be well for either of us to remember that in these unhappy days you and I were separated.
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