The confirmed drunkard's mouth at length sets itself peculiarly; it becomes the mark by which thoughtful men know him. ‘You keep a-hold of him,’ Trodger ordered his men. She could not look at him through an interval that seemed to her a vast gulf of time. The three of them laughed joyously. ‘I’ll get the key,’ said Roding, turning abruptly. ‘Damnation!’ Confused, he released her, and in an instant she had darted away and was running down the garden. But the aunt seized her in her arms and rocked with her.
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