There was now no honest way of warning Taber that the net had been drawn. When it came time to eat once again, she hid out on the beach, a remote fastness beyond the city walls, a swampy morass that everyone avoided. " "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. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. I've a shrewd guess where he's taken refuge; but I'll ferret him out. Always I have said I will take care of myself, and I have done so.
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