She acted as her mother had taught her to. Infested by every description of vagabond and miscreant, it was, perhaps, a few degrees worse than the rookery near Saint Giles's and the desperate neighbourhood of Saffron Hill in our own time. One day her mother swept into the bedroom of the family townhouse, sweeping across the floor with a bundle in her arms. The winter had turned sea and sky to a wet gray. He flung open the door and cast a quick glance round.
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