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You must forgive the poet’s license I take. ‘I never met a rat what wandered about the place with a lantern, I didn’t,’ grumbled the old lodgekeeper aggrievedly. A fire enveloped her, a fire which was strangely healing, filling her heart with warmth, blotting out the menace of the world. The smell of laundry detergent was noticeable, the bed sheets very tightly stretched across the bed, tucked in on three sides. “At a boarding-house?” he gasped. She leaned back in the cab with half-closed eyes. Wood, at Dollis Hill —" "Let me have one," said a carpenter, who was passing by at the moment,—"Mr.
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