They turned off at Glen Grove, a sleepy town of less than two hundred. It appeared he had already ordered dinner and wine, and the whiskered waiter waved in his subordinate with the soup forthwith. Cowering in a corner upon a heap of straw sat his unfortunate mother, the complete wreck of what she had been. I know what I am talking about. Maggot, who promptly interposed her cudgel.
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