It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay. A home MAY be a sort of cage, but still—it’s a home. The windows were still darkened—perhaps she was not home yet. The Ragged Edge. "The Chevalier shall hear of this," whispered the woollen-draper. ‘Do you think I would do to him as he made a threat to do to me? No. I’ve seen Brewis Charvill, by the by. Tell me that again.
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