But I don't look for peace on this side the grave. "Come down stairs directly, and let your mother look at your wrist. The windows were small, and strongly grated, looking, in front, on Kendrick Yard, and, at the back, upon the spacious burial-ground of Saint Giles's Church. So, one day, because God was wroth, her mother ran away with a blackguard, and died in the gutter, miserably. Then light footsteps became audible, descending the staircase with a certain deliberation and a faint rustle of skirts. Her nerves were shattered, her senses dazed by this unexpected shock.
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