Her hair was of the darkest brown, and finest texture; and, when unloosed, hung down to her heels. She had first picked up the fiddle back when it was still called a viol, that was how long she had been at it. She passed people in the streets and regarded them with a quickening apprehension, once or twice came girls dressed in slatternly finery, going toward Regent Street from out these places. I doubt I hold any interest for him anymore. Be honest, and you will be happy.
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