" "Not a farthing more, I assure you," rejoined Ireton, pettishly; "we're all on the square here. But, let's see the prisoner. She was frightfully hungry. I wanted to have something to give up. Alcohol— would you believe it?—steadies his nerves and keens his brain: which is against the laws of gravitation, you might say. " "Poor soul!" ejaculated her son.
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