. . A dull light shone through the open window blinds and softened the room with parchment yellowness. Particularly when it was obvious the fellow was one of these pitiful wretches weak enough to allow themselves to be ousted from their inheritances and thus obliged to come seeking succour of their neighbours. The more haste, the worse speed—better the feet slip than the tongue. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. Suddenly Anna felt her hand seized and imprisoned in Courtlaw’s burning fingers. "Is it by lettin' you go, my darlin', that I'm to airn it?" inquired Terence.
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