" "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. Do you think that I am utterly selfish?” She raised her eyebrows. He squinted and a disgusted look came over him. If I offered you half of my possessions, you'd doubtless wallop me on the jaw. He laughs at locks and bolts; and the more carefully you guard your premises from him, the more likely are you to insure an attack. My own impression is that he already knows. In the meanwhile, as he talked, he scrutinized her face, ran his eyes over her careless, gracious poise, wondered hard about her. She was correct, and when I went directly to the street she had named, there you were, walking into the Butcher Shop. “No power on earth will persuade me we’re not two rather disreputable persons.
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