The action steadied him; and there was a phase of irony, too, that helped. Advancing to the middle of the chamber, he halted, drew himself up, and fixed his dark, expressive eyes, on Thames Darrell. Sniveling brats, little fatherless bastards, you should breathe a sigh of relief. Unless he has killed someone. " "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.
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