On the bench was set a quartern measure of gin, a crust of bread, and a slice of cheese. You have grown into my life, and I cannot tear you out. ‘You heard Gosse—I mean, the man you know as Valade?’ ‘Clear as day, miss,’ he uttered. She gave tongue to the most urgent of her plaints. ‘Here, miss,’ came faintly from somewhere close at hand. As she went on, the story began to sound more and more like a recitation.
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