I keep it for my own drinking," he added in a lower tone. Turning off again on the left, down Seacoal Lane, they arrived at the mouth of a dark, narrow alley, into which they plunged; and, at the farther extremity found a small yard, overlooked by the blank walls of a large gloomy habitation. In a moment or two, Madame Valade recovered her sangfroid. “I’m sorry! Mary! Are you hurt?” “No.
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