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. “If my own mother was alive,” sobbed Ann Veronica, “she would understand. Almost simultaneously they burst out laughing. But, rather than be the cause of any further misunderstanding between you and my benefactor, I will leave London and its neighbourhood for ever. Beauty has bloomed and faded. That had taken her by surprise, and her tired wits had failed her.
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