Then she dropped the curtain and stepped back into the room. In this state, he was laid upon a bench, to sleep off his drunken fit, while his wretched mother, in spite of her passionate supplications and resistance, was, by Blueskin's command, forcibly ejected from the house, and driven out of the Mint. The hymnal lyrics had never stirred her; she had memorized and sung them parrotwise. The procession had just got into line of march, when a dreadful groan, mixed with yells, hootings, and execrations, was heard. She did not forge a note.
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