"Ha! say you so? You must be looked to. Her safety lay in pretense—that what she saw was as a tale twice told. “No thanks. “But—your people!” she gasped. “My Mom never gets a good night’s sleep. "Where are you?" "Here," replied Mrs. Sheppard's habitation terminated a row of old ruinous buildings, called Wheeler's Rents; a dirty thoroughfare, part street, and part lane, running from Mint Street, through a variety of turnings, and along the brink of a deep kennel, skirted by a number of petty and neglected gardens in the direction of Saint George's Fields.
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