" "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. From suburbs, from country towns—everywhere. " "Jack seems to be a great favourite with the fair sex," observed a smirking grocer's apprentice. “He was in holy orders, and we were to have been married when he got a living. ” He receded from her. There is some deep treachery hidden beneath his words. Yet, here she was, in the ancient Chinese city, weaving in and out of the narrow streets some scarcely wide enough for two men to walk abreast, streets that boiled and eddied with yellow human beings, who worshipped strange gods, ate strange foods, and diffused strange suffocating smells. What right had she to call herself “Alcide”? It was abominable, an imposture. "You are a physician; you know the vagaries of men in liquor.
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