“I’m not coarse—no! But I’ve got no purity of mind—no real purity of mind. His eyebrows arched, knotting in the middle. The last Meeting between Jack Sheppard and his Mother 419 XXIV. Her little bedsitting-room was like a lair, and she went out from it into this vast, dun world, with its smoke-gray houses, its glaring streets of shops, its dark streets of homes, its orange-lit windows, under skies of dull copper or muddy gray or black, much as an animal goes out to seek food.
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