The conversation which her entrance had interrupted began to buzz again all around her. Sheppard's habitation terminated a row of old ruinous buildings, called Wheeler's Rents; a dirty thoroughfare, part street, and part lane, running from Mint Street, through a variety of turnings, and along the brink of a deep kennel, skirted by a number of petty and neglected gardens in the direction of Saint George's Fields. “It’s the warming up of the year, the coming of the light mornings, the way in which everything begins to run about and begin new things. I want to ask you a plain question, and you must answer me faithfully. The winter of 1348 seemed to last an eternity, but the Pestilence struck in one day. But don't thank me; thank Miss Enschede. Capes? Well, think what it must be to live in them—soul and mind and body! It’s fun for a man to jest at our position. ‘Very well, then.
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