" "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. Let us walk about. “I may not see the Widgetts for some little time, father,” she said. The lighting-up pierced the obscurity of the box, and Ramage stopped his urgent flow of words abruptly and sat back. " "I am at a loss to understand you Sir,", said Trenchard. “John, that is what you say now. "Every inch of it," replied the woollen-draper.
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