The other bona roba, known amongst her companions as Mistress Poll Maggot, was a beauty on a much larger scale,—in fact, a perfect Amazon. None of this by-play escaped Ruth, whose sense of humour needed no developing. "Good-b'ye, Jack," said Figg, putting on his hat. He got out in much the same way from the Gatehouse,—stole the keys, and passed through a room where I was sitting half-asleep in a chair. A crumpled-up newspaper thrown from the gallery hit her upon the cheek.
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