The next morning she went out with her post-office savings bank-book, and telegraphed for a warrant to draw out all the money she had in the world. 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. It was like pouring a strong acid over dulled metal.
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