“If it will keep you busy,” he said, with a faintly ironical smile. He sat with folded arms and knitted brows, thinking intently. The room was worse than pokey, it was shabby; and the view from the window, of chimney pots and slate roofs, wholly uninspiring. How did you get your luggage out of the house? Wasn’t it—wasn’t it rather in some respects—rather a lark? It’s one of my regrets for my lost youth. You shall know the truth. As her belly swelled, so did he.
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