At this time of universal havoc and despair,—when all London quaked at the voice of the storm,—the carpenter, who was exposed to its utmost fury, fared better than might have been anticipated. He disappeared into its thick doors like a magician’s rabbit. Grasping it firmly with both hands, he quickly wrenched if from the stones in which it was mortised, and leapt to the ground. Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict. ‘Valade, if you don’t mind.
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