She refused coffee, though she knew that anyhow she was doomed to a sleepless night. Anna merely glanced at the coarse, flushed features, and at once shook her head. Uttering a faint scream, she sank backwards, and would have fallen, if it had not been for the interposition of Blueskin, who, at that moment, staggered into the room with a candle in one hand, and the bottle in the other. Nothing but the publicity of the place and the recollection of that terrible constituency kept him from attempting some perfectly respectful but unmistakable evidence of his sympathy. " "Better eat these, even if you don't want them," she urged.
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