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Little Anna screamed and thrashed as she was torn from Lucy’s skirts. The ceiling had, in many places, given way; the laths had been removed; and, where any plaster remained, it was either mapped and blistered with damps, or festooned with dusty cobwebs. Perhaps I've been mad all these years; I don't know. He turned in at the club. I will do all this not because I love you, but—because you are Anna’s sister.
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