We were to live in some wretched London suburb. "Enough," said the widow, gratefully. Wood," added she in a hollow voice, and with a ghastly look, "gin may bring ruin; but as long as poverty, vice, and ill-usage exist, it will be drunk. Ann Veronica could at the same time ask herself what this queer old gentleman could have meant by speaking to her, and know—know in general terms, at least—what that accosting signified. "Why do you laugh?" she asked gravely. God, Lucy, that’s the stuff people wear to Phys. Her mouth lolled open and drool seeped down one corner.
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