‘Suppose you don’t know what sort of proof she was after?’ he asked. And lunged once more. He touched her breast as if he was testing the waters of a cold lake. In this state, he was laid upon a bench, to sleep off his drunken fit, while his wretched mother, in spite of her passionate supplications and resistance, was, by Blueskin's command, forcibly ejected from the house, and driven out of the Mint.
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