‘Lord, no! I’ve a better regard for my skin, I thank you. A doubt as to your dinner to-morrow would make you miserable to-night. It could only mean one thing—that her foster daughter was both a whore and a murderer! When Sheila confronted her about it, it was five in the morning. ‘But that will do for a start. Lucy’s guts ached with jealousy and bitterness, building in a knot that twisted in her stomach, rag-like. Wood's daughter,—to whom, I've heard tell, he was attached years ago,—was brought up, his courage forsook him altogether, and he trembled, and could scarcely stand. He saw that she was tense. A bad one in a rough-and-tumble; all the water-front tricks. ‘You do not believe me?’ ‘I do not.
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