Everywhere I went and rapped at a door I found behind it another dreadful dingy woman—another fallen queen, I suppose— dingier than the last, dirty, you know, in grain. Gin Lane's the nearest road to the churchyard. “You didn’t expect that I should kiss you?” “How was I to know that a man would—would think it was possible—when there was nothing—no love?” “How did I know there wasn’t love?” That silenced her for a moment. ’ Then she ran swiftly out of the library, calling out as her cavalier was almost at the front door. Sheppard's habitation terminated a row of old ruinous buildings, called Wheeler's Rents; a dirty thoroughfare, part street, and part lane, running from Mint Street, through a variety of turnings, and along the brink of a deep kennel, skirted by a number of petty and neglected gardens in the direction of Saint George's Fields. She was ashamed of herself for the simple gladness she felt wash over her as the infant’s screams ended. She turned and looked at the red LED of the alarm clock that read 3:55.
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