The blue jowl, the fat-lidded eyes—now merry, now alert, now tungsten hard—the bullet head, the pudgy fingers and the square-toed shoes were all in conformation with the doctor's olden mental picture. The next morning she went out with her post-office savings bank-book, and telegraphed for a warrant to draw out all the money she had in the world. "You poor child!" said Prudence. Saint Giles's Round-house XIII.
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