It penetrated the skin; benumbed the flesh; paralysed the faculties. " "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. " The object of this discussion sat motionless. At this gate two paths meet. But when all was over, a sorrowful calm succeeded, and, if not free from grief, she was tranquil.
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