Trodger was lying in wait at the bottom of the narrow stairs. She had unaccountable gleams of sympathy with and liking for him. " "What am I to do to earn it?" asked Blueskin, with a disgusting leer,—"cut a throat—or throw myself at your feet—eh, my dear?" "Give me that child," returned the lady, with difficulty overcoming the loathing inspired by the ruffian's familiarity. She sat in deep thought for a moment or two, and then nodding briskly, dipped the pen in the ink again and began to write. He made it brief. He used to live in a boarding-house in Russell Square.
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