I’d rather starve!” For a moment the conversation hung upon that declaration. " "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. I’ll need you to go back to the barracks and fetch more men up to town. “A thick-set, coarse-looking young man, Anna!” she exclaimed in a hoarse excited whisper.
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