Mr. Jones, of the Manor Farm, had locked the hen-houses for the night, but was too drunk to remember to shut the pop-holes. With the ring of light from his lantern dancing from side to side, he lurched across the yard, kicked off his boots at the back door, drew himself a last gl...ass of beer from the barrel in the scullery, and made his way up to bed, where Mrs. Jones was already snoring.
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