“Dear me!” he said. Hetty, who had periods of lucid expression, put the thing for her from her pillow. She frowned, appearing to think for a moment. On this elevation a table was now placed, around which sat the turnkeys and their guests, regaling themselves on the fragrant beverage provided by the prisoner. What a pity! But why? There was no way over this puzzle, nor under it, nor around it: that men should drink, knowing the inevitable payment. Even the love of a mother does not sway him.
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