She loved him. Built and paved with stone, without beds, or any other sort of protection from the cold, this dreadful hole, accounted the most dark and dismal in the prison, was made the receptacle of such miserable wretches as could not pay the customary fees. That’s how things are; that’s the order of the world. Both of them. ” “It is Number 8, Cavendish Square,” she answered simply. One or two landladies refused her with an air of conscious virtue that she found hard to explain.
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