"Nobody composes any more, nobody paints, nobody writes—I mean, on a par with what we've just heard. Uttering a faint scream, she sank backwards, and would have fallen, if it had not been for the interposition of Blueskin, who, at that moment, staggered into the room with a candle in one hand, and the bottle in the other. I never saw a man who wasn't. . Professing to stand between the robber and the robbed, he himself plundered both. That is so awful.
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