It’s John. He then made a sort of running noose, passed it over her body, and taking firmly hold of the bars, prepared to guide her descent. " "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 stopped eating. “You are positively eloquent to-night—both of you,” she declared.
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