" The doctor caught the irony, and he warmed a little. On the bench was set a quartern measure of gin, a crust of bread, and a slice of cheese. ‘Idiot!’ ‘Enough, now! Softly, you little termagant,’ he ordered, seizing her wrists to hold her off. Sheppard, passing her hands over his face, and gazing at him with a look that made him shudder. The performance over, he relaxed and closed his eyes. Beneath these prints, a cluster of hobnails, driven into the wall, formed certain letters, which, if properly deciphered, produced the words, "Paul Groves, cobler;" and under the name, traced in charcoal, appeared the following record of the poor fellow's fate, "Hung himsel in this rum for luv off licker;" accompanied by a graphic sketch of the unhappy suicide dangling from a beam. Somebody may be on the watch—perhaps, that old ginger-hackled Jew. Sheppard's habitation terminated a row of old ruinous buildings, called Wheeler's Rents; a dirty thoroughfare, part street, and part lane, running from Mint Street, through a variety of turnings, and along the brink of a deep kennel, skirted by a number of petty and neglected gardens in the direction of Saint George's Fields. "Can you pull him through?" was the anxious question. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently.
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This video was uploaded to theblogfullofgames.com on 19-09-2024 19:38:11
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