"Every inch of it," replied the woollen-draper. “It’s—private. This whole affair is truly my fault. My son wanted to marry a woman of thirty in a tobacconist’s shop. He roused curiosities. Take your half loaf with the others. There will be no more children in this house, not ever! And if anyone ever tries bringing children into our house again, I shall kill the lot of them. He was helpful, but gravely dubious. "We work together no more.
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