‘Now I see that you are mad indeed. Sheppard. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. I sha'n't cry any more. She tugged at my coat and said, ‘I know of the blue-eyed maid. Lights glimmered in the windows of the different houses; and a lamp-lighter was running from post to post on his way to Snow Hill. She watched her friend rise and go towards her affianced husband, a look of mischief in her face.
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