She tried gentle words with him, beguiling perfumes, even slipped aphrodisiac tisanes into his soup. “MY DEAR MISS PELLISSIER,— “To-morrow the six months will be up. I'm a poor nurse. "I've seen him some years ago, I believe," answered Wood; "and, though he must be much changed by this time, I dare say I should know him again. The man who staggers, whose face is flushed, whose attitude is either noisily friendly or truculent, has some chance; liquor bends him eventually.
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