The Gift of the Sailor: The String of Pearls & Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street — page 348: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

“T should stare!” said Todd. “You would, sir?” “Yes; I rather am inclined to think that that christening business will detain her. By this time she has got into the thick of it, my dear madam, you may depend, although I am quite certain she will be strictly temperate, and take nothing but water.” “Do you think so, sir?” “T am sure of it. Can you find a glass, madam? I have not the happiness of knowing your name.” “Stag, if you please, sir. I have one glass here without a foot. It’s an odd thing, but Mrs. Lovett shuts up the place when she goes out, as if we were all thieves and murderers.” “Does she really? Well—well, we will manage with one glass, my dear Mrs. Stag. It is the first time we have had a drop together, and I have only to hope that it will not be the last. I ought not, perhaps, to say it before your face, but you are the most entertaining company that I have met with for a long time.—Drink, madam.” “After you, sir.” “No—no, I insist.” Mrs. Stag drank off the full glass that Todd presented her with, and then affecting to pour one out for himself, but dexterously keeping the bottle between him and the lady, he only carried the empty glass to his lips. Now, Mrs. Stag was a decided connoisseur in gin, and she suddenly assumed a thoughtful air, and looked up to the ceiling as she slightly moved her lips. “Rather an unusual taste after it’s down, don’t you think, sir?” she said. “Has it? Well, I don’t know. Perhaps you have been tasting a pie, madam, and that may have influenced the flavour. Try it again. You never can tell the taste of a glass of gin, in my opinion, until you have taken two at least. Try this, Mrs. Stag.” “Really I—I. Thank you, sir.” Off went a second glass, and then Todd glared at her with the eyes of a fiend, as he said; placing the bottle upon the counter, “That ought to be a dose, I think.” “Sir?” stammered Mrs. Stag. “I—I—God bless me—I—sir—gin—I—tthat is lots of pies—gin—gravy. Mrs. Lovett—in the crown of a bonnet—I—my dear, my dear—Bless us all. Lock it all up—no—no—no. Gin—I—good again—Pies—gravy.” Todd caught her by the throat or she would have fallen; and then, as she became quite insensible, he thrust her under the counter. Q00DOOGOOO GOnMGoIOO <5) CO)