Turning off again on the left, down Seacoal Lane, they arrived at the mouth of a dark, narrow alley, into which they plunged; and, at the farther extremity found a small yard, overlooked by the blank walls of a large gloomy habitation. Good night. He smiled inwardly. Jackson’s. The clock struck half-past ten. He sees men all defiled by coarse thoughts, coarse ways of living cruelties. He forced her arm back, away, stretching it out to keep the weapon at bay.
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