Gin is the poor man's friend,—his sole set-off against the rich man's luxury. Her fingers found the lump she sought and, with a little effort, she dragged out the black-wrapped foil. She waited expectantly. Fritz flailed against his mother wildly, crying generous tears. She remained on guard. ” He made his voice very low and full, and looked closely into her face. I often wonder why the young always take us ancients for nambypamby creatures. With this view he struck off into a narrow street on the left, and soon entered a small alehouse, over the door of which hung the sign of the "Welsh Trumpeter.
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