CHAPTER II. For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and
ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and troubled,
ashamed of her previous obtuseness. Moving swiftly to the end of the corridor, he pushed
open a door at random and entered a large room, which looked to have been a
saloon, judging from the faded gilt and crimson wall-paper, a mirror above the
fireplace which was surrounded by an ornate gilded frame, now sadly tarnished,
and a worn Chippendale sofa with striped upholstery and tasselled cushions. Kneebone, a woollen-draper in Wych Street, with whose pockets, it appears,
Jack, when a lad, made a little too free. ‘As for you—’
‘Do not address me.
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