“You come into these sordid surroundings—you mustn’t mind my calling them sordid—and it makes them seem as though they didn’t matter. Ennison’s acquaintance. She would look up, shake her head, and then go back to her reading or crewelwork. "What does he say?" roared the long drover. She went on from street to street, and all the glory of London had departed. That was life.
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