She held it by the neck and broke the end of the bottle on the hard dirt. But never would any so dishonour himself as to hand a fellow rogue over to the authorities. And son of a pig,’ she grunted, baring her teeth. And, as he quitted the room, the poor widow fell with her face upon the floor. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination.
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