“There are policemen—and buses. Eventually this comradeship (slightly resented by Rollo) reached a point where he could call out from the study: "Hey, Ruth!—come and tell me what you think of this. Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth. Her sister had told him that it was true. My address is 94, Pall Mall. The Night-Cellar. I shall take to him as nat'ral as if he were my own flesh and blood afore long. It wouldn’t be you. She had never been there before at that hour, in that light, and it seemed to her as if she came to it all for the first time. William Kneebone, Of me, Sir, you shall never be bone.
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