13 Montague Street. “Until a girl can go away as a son does and earn her independent income, she’s still on a string. In spite of God and wasps and her father, she had stolen plums; and once because of discovered misdeeds, and once because she had realized that her mother was dead, she had lain on her face in the unmown grass, beneath the elmtrees that came beyond the vegetables, and poured out her soul in weeping. It was the last thing she felt like drinking. "To be sure I will, my child. Even in her own sorry skin-and-bones state of wraithlike pallor and gray under eye circles she was drawing unwanted attention from would-be admirers. “Ugh!” she said. “The other too if it is within my power. We went our ways. Wood then took to his heels, and never once looked behind him till he reached his own dwelling in Wych Street. She regarded him coldly, as though wondering whether he had anything further to say.
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