She was to have fifteen pounds, and no more. You must forgive the poet’s license I take. Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth. He can't play cards, either, when he's sober. 1. " "Mr.
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