“It is hateful—diabolical!” he exclaimed. One of the shutters was a trifle damaged, letting in added light. "You musht do dat shob yourself, Mishter Vild," rejoined Abraham, shaking his head. Buck up. The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year. ’ There was a kind of aching hunger in Gerald’s gaze. The houses loomed progressively larger as one strode up the block, growing from ranch to two-story, from squat 1950's modern to stately 1890's palace.
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