"I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in Guildhall. “I cannot say who he is,” said Ann Veronica, “but he is a married man. He laughs at locks and bolts; and the more carefully you guard your premises from him, the more likely are you to insure an attack. “And think, think”—her voice sank —“of the horrible coarseness!” “What coarseness?” said Ann Veronica.
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