If I were Mr. When it came time to eat once again, she hid out on the beach, a remote fastness beyond the city walls, a swampy morass that everyone avoided. "How long will he be laid up?" "Three or four weeks, if he doesn't peg out during the night. The very carts and vans and cabs that Wellington Street poured out incessantly upon the bridge seemed ripe and good in her eyes. Little by little, she stopped hating him.
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