Perhaps the boys had already faced off and he had missed it, he thought sourly. Further on, there was a small chandler's shop, where Jack observed an old woman seated at the counter, attended by a little girl. She was always breaking rules, whispering asides, intimating signals. On their left the river, with its gloomy pile of buildings on the opposite side, and a huge revolving advertisement throwing its strange reflection upon the black water. The very carts and vans and cabs that Wellington Street poured out incessantly upon the bridge seemed ripe and good in her eyes.
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