Don't you remember? There were four of us, and we went touring in the city. John stared palely. To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. 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. The place was pockmarked with window-like holes everywhere—people were always 138 falling into them and breaking bones--it was for these lookouts why she had chosen it.
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