Horrible doubts assailed her. " "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’m a soldier, you see. ’ ‘But it was not your fault,’ protested Gosse, shocked. "Oh, God! would you take him from me?— would you murder him?" "His father's name?—and he is free," rejoined Rowland, holding her arms.
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