My foster mother, Janine, wasn’t much fatter. A cat came and rubbed herself against him as he entered the house, and seemed by her mewing to ask him for food. Her complexion was wan and faded, except where it was tinged by a slight hectic flush, that made the want of colour more palpable; her eyes were large and black, but heavy and lustreless; her cheeks sunken; her frame emaciated; her dark hair thickly scattered with gray. If you don't conquer this disgraceful propensity in time, you'll soon come to want; and then nothing can save you. Spurling, "I hope he may never see Tyburn.
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