Spurling. “And where,” he asked, “are my rivals?” “Deserters,” she answered, laughing. Notwithstanding her emaciation, her features still retained something of a pleasing expression, and might have been termed beautiful, had it not been for that repulsive freshness of lip denoting the habitual dram-drinker; a freshness in her case rendered the more shocking from the almost livid hue of the rest of her complexion. It was the grand nursery of vice. Either you have had to love people or hate them—which is a sort of love, too, in its way—to get anything out of them. “I came to London unexpectedly, and my friends could not take me in. "How go you like your quarters, sauce-box?" asked Sharples, in a jeering tone. . Sheppard did not dare to return any answer; but, disengaging herself from his embrace, endeavoured meekly to comply with his request.
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