Sheila pounded the kitchen table, causing the bell jar with the silk flowers to tip over and roll to the floor. The houses were older, the shops gloomier, and the thoroughfare narrower, it is true; but the bustle, the crowd, the street-like air was the same. Sebastian snorted, “If it isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black!” “Your house is host to the lowest forms of life, those without morals! I will no longer allow my children to live 210 in such a house. Take my child to—it is—oh God!—I am sinking—take it—take it!" "Where?" shouted Wood. I’m sorry Lucy.
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