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Accordingly, when she arrived at the Shovels, with which, as an old haunt in her bygone days of wretchedness she was well acquainted, instead of entering the principal apartment, which she saw at a glance was crowded with company of both sexes, she turned into a small room on the left of the bar, and, as an excuse for so doing, called for something to drink. This was enough for the poor widow. She could not go to him with a preachment against strong drink; she knew from experience that such a plan would be wasted effort.
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