“And how did you find us here?” “I called at Montague Street a few minutes after you had left. He could not tell by the look of her whether she was glad or sorry that presently she would be free. Still no sound. It was dusty, with dirty clothing strewn about, a cracked basin thick with grime on the rickety dresser, and a film of grease on the leaded casement. "It is your son. ‘Too late by the time I realised to what a dunderhead I’d pledged my friendship.
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