He'd never forgive you. The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me. ‘No one would credit that you are three years older than I. The place pulsed with music too loud to converse above. They stank, and she hated how they blocked the sunlight. Also he is ugly. I thank God for His sunlight on your face. White, my landlady, believes his story.
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