Peg after peg had gone down his blistered throat, but never had a smile touched his lips, never had his gaze roved inquisitively. “Women are mocked,” she said. Over an old crazy bedstead was thrown a squalid, patchwork counterpane; and upon the counterpane lay a black hood and scarf, a pair of bodice of the cumbrous form in vogue at the beginning of the last century, and some other articles of female attire.
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