Another glass, Jack. " "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. "Shall I fetch it for you, Sir?" "By all means. “Allow me. Now it is—’ ‘What are you doing still here, missie, that’s what I’d like to know?’ demanded the man Trodger, sticking to his guns. Now I have done something for which you might be pardoned if you did kill me.
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