There must be ways of getting rid of him. “I hate you because you are the Devil! Rot in Hell!” She was shocked at her own accusation, how she had savored the words. What was the wench at? Yet he could not maintain this stand off forever. " "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. . ’ They moved to the door, while the lady shrugged, and then seated herself, glancing from the window into the street below, and then turning again to watch them in their huddle at the other side of the library.
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