"The worst house in the neighbourhood—the constant haunt of reprobates and thieves," groaned Wood. Several of the assailants carried links, so that the room was a blaze of light. ” She laughed. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. Wood trembled. " And he struck up the following ballad:— SAINT GILES'S BOWL.
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