So, in broken, rather breathless phrases, he told his story; and when he had done, he laid his arms upon the table and bent his head to them. ‘Ain’t enough as my bed is took, my sheets all bloodied, and my gin took for to waste on that fellow’s wound. Bottles and glasses usurped the place of dishes and plates. They seemed to her that morning to be all armed with nets and prepared to throw them over her directly her movements became in any manner truly free.
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