In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made. It is no more a murder, but a duel, you understand. But it’s very beastly. I don’t know what has come over me. But that was soon put right, and she walked out into London with a peculiar exaltation of mind, an exaltation that partook of panic and defiance, but was chiefly a sense of vast unexampled release.
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