When first brought under consideration, she was a miserable and forlorn object; squalid in attire, haggard in looks, and emaciated in frame. “Cut her throat!” Sebastian snapped. She walked over to them still carrying the trousers in her hands, and stooped to examine them. "Them's catchpoles, I s'pose, Sir, arter the gemman with a writ?" he observed. I do not admit the truth of a word which you have said.
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