After passing Tottenham Court Road, very few houses were to be seen on the right hand, opposite Wardour Street it was open country. "In the devil's name, is that you, Jack!" ejaculated Kneebone. But I vowed that Ruth should never suffer the way I did—and do. It was a boy baby cooing in swaddling clothes, a baby who had just been born to the butcher's servant across the alley, the maid Isobella who trailed behind, beaming. ‘Small wonder in a way that he found hisself consolation elsewhere.
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