And the woollen-draper departed. But it’s only now I’m able to do it. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. We have to get them to let us in for the profits of their business, and in return we ask them to—dinner. Taking his way along East Smithfield, mounting Little Tower-hill, and threading the Minories and Hounsditch, he arrived without accident or molestation, at Moorfields. He had been ill; no matter about that: he recollected every thought that had led up to it and every act that had consummated the deed.
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