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The houses loomed progressively larger as one strode up the block, growing from ranch to two-story, from squat 1950's modern to stately 1890's palace. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. At this time of universal havoc and despair,—when all London quaked at the voice of the storm,—the carpenter, who was exposed to its utmost fury, fared better than might have been anticipated. ’ ‘No, I wouldn’t have believed you. Vaguely she heard the distinctive sound of male voices as she saw Gosse dive towards the fateful pew. " "A novelist?" cried Ruth, thrilling.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 27-09-2024 16:43:29