But he can't have his eyes always about him, or he'd have been with us this morning at the Mint, eh, Mr. 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. "Mercy on us!" cried he, as a thrill of apprehension ran through his frame. “Do you think it is fair of you to persecute me just now?” “It is not persecution, Anna,” he answered gently. Turning, she heaved at the bottom door and slammed it in his face just as he came leaping forward to grab her.
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