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A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. The doors of several of the wards were thrown open for these parties, and as Jack passed, he could not help glancing at the wretched inmates. If you’ve got anything to say, you must say it to your aunt—” “But look here, daddy!” He flapped the Times at her with an imperious gesture. I am quite clear about this. They might applaud, or object, or interfere, but the drama was her very own.
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