” It was a tiny little room, daintily furnished, individual in its quaint colouring, and the masses of perfumed flowers set in strange and unexpected places. Old and dilapidated, the widow's domicile looked the very picture of desolation and misery. " The Gate, which crossed Newgate Street, had a wide arch for carriages, and a postern, on the north side, for footpassengers. " "Comin'! comin'!" returned the constable, shuffling towards him. The manager twisted his moustache. She felt it would save explanations if she did not state she had left her home and was looking for employment. No further responsibility whatever.
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