‘I’m only a poor country wench, child. The study seemed absolutely unaltered, there was still the same lamp with a little chip out of the shade, still the same gas fire, still the same bundle of blue and white papers, it seemed, with the same pink tape about them, at the elbow of the arm-chair, still the same father. "Intruding!" echoed Mrs. " "Don't stir, or they'll chain you to the wall," said his mother detaining him. " "No. Alcohol— would you believe it?—steadies his nerves and keens his brain: which is against the laws of gravitation, you might say.
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