" "Stand off, Poll," rejoined the woollen-draper; "I don't want to hurt you. He strangled the infant, which slipped out of his hands and screamed. He stood back, smiling with an air of proprietorship, and looking about him at the business-like equipment of the room. Barleycorn had sent to the mat for the count of nine: unless the young fool's daddy had a bundle of coin.
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