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`Look here,' said Lucian, showing me the basket, with a com- passionate and tender smile after we had talked a little; `here's poor Clara's supper, served out every night. Here's her allowance of bread, and here's her slice of cheese, and here's her rum -- which I drink. This is Mr Marc Werner's breakfast for to-morrow, served out to be cooked. Two mutton chops, three potatoes, some split peas, a little flour, two ounces of butter, a pinch of salt, and all this black pepper. It's stewed up together, and taken hot, and it's a nice thing for the gout, I should think!'
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