They tracked the fugitive to the Mint; but, like hounds at fault, they here lost all scent of their prey. And she’s pluck to the backbone. At length the manager arrived; and together he and Ruth succeeded in getting some of the aromatic spirits of ammonia down the patient's throat. He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. “Nigel, Nigel,” she cried. " "Twenty pounds," rejoined Mrs.
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