She made lumpish and inadequate interruptions rather than replies. Grace-church Street was entirely deserted, except by a few stragglers, whose curiosity got the better of their fears; or who, like the carpenter, were compelled to proceed along it. “Who’ll mind the baby nar?” was one of the night’s inspirations, and very frequent. ‘Adieu, imbecile,’ she threw at him gleefully. Wood's, the carpenter in Wych Street.
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