He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. Any natural fineness would be numbed by drink. ‘You ain’t got nothing on me. If he had eaten food, this wouldn't have happened. Men in this part of the world drink to forget the things they have lost. She passed people in the streets and regarded them with a quickening apprehension, once or twice came girls dressed in slatternly finery, going toward Regent Street from out these places. ‘No.
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