“I knew you would begin to see how it all falls into place together. ’ At that, a flush drenched her cheeks and she snatched her hand away. Infested by every description of vagabond and miscreant, it was, perhaps, a few degrees worse than the rookery near Saint Giles's and the desperate neighbourhood of Saffron Hill in our own time. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood.
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