There was no sense in creating further difficulties for herself by arguing with the sergeant over her identity. She began to draw on her gloves thoughtfully. It’s got to be at last like tobacco-ash over all my sayings and doings. "Oh! you did, did you?" said the janizary. They were all stout ill-favoured men, attired in the regular jail-livery of scratch wig and snuff-coloured suit; and had all a strong family likeness to each other. .
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