She was not allowed to bathe herself: another prisoner, with a privileged manner, washed her. And now, my love," she added, with a relenting look, "I'm content to make up our quarrel. " "Take a glass of gin, Ma'am," cried Poll Maggot, holding up a bottle of spirit; "it used to be your favourite liquor, I've heard. It was no use. Here the prisoners took exercise; and a quaint, but striking picture has been left of their appearance when so engaged, by the author of the English Rogue.
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