A terrible spectacle was presented to the young man's gaze:—the floor deluged with blood—the mangled and lifeless body of Mrs. She felt her canines grow, the hunger consuming her. There she sought and at last found 107A, one of those heterogeneous piles of offices which occupy the eastern side of the lane. Capes came back into her mind. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s.
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