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‘By traitors I am surrounded!’ ‘Stop talking utter twaddle,’ ordered Roding, marching up to the desk. The touch of his lips neither thrilled nor alarmed her, because the eyes that looked into hers were clean. She calmed herself, breathing deeply. She remained stonily in the middle of the hallway until the spinsters' door shut them from view … for ever. The roof was partially untiled; the chimneys were tottering; the side-walls bulged, and were supported by a piece of timber propped against the opposite house; the glass in most of the windows was broken, and its place supplied with paper; while, in some cases, the very frames of the windows had been destroyed, and the apertures were left free to the airs of heaven. Rot, no doubt; but we can’t alter it.
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