Sheppard's habitation terminated a row of old ruinous buildings, called Wheeler's Rents; a dirty thoroughfare, part street, and part lane, running from Mint Street, through a variety of turnings, and along the brink of a deep kennel, skirted by a number of petty and neglected gardens in the direction of Saint George's Fields. She gathered her black purse, a pointless thing made of cardboard covered in sateen and bejeweled with an assortment of rhinestones. He did his best not to grin. “I hope that Mr. Why didn’t he die?” Anna sprang to her feet and walked restlessly up and down the room. "Shall I help you on with it, Sir?" replied the Jew, becoming suddenly respectful.
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