You’ve got to take what you can get. The aunt rushed over to her nephew, knelt and wrapped him in her arms. His face was that of a quick, intelligent-looking boy, with fine hazel eyes, and a clear olive complexion. She knew the significance: the red corpuscle was being burnt out by the fires of alcohol. Such was his fury, that if he had not been restrained by the presence of the two turnkeys, he might perhaps have anticipated the course of justice, by laying violent hands upon his victim.
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