‘Yes, like you,’ she snapped, with a venomous glance, her role evidently forgotten for the moment. She ducked behind a pile of unused drywall. “You pushed the wheel from my hand. She went on from street to street, and all the glory of London had departed. Then she went back and mixed up the sheets in a search for particular passages. What is it you’re after? Money, I suppose. The air was sharp and bracing, and the leaves which had taken their autumnal tints were falling from the trees.
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