She sat very still, and his eyes rested on that ornament for a moment, and then travelled slowly to her wrist and the soft lines of her forearm. " "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. " The stranger was for a moment lost in reflection. She kept him talking all the way to the doorstep of the Beck's home, a small 1970s brown split-level in the old part of town.
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