He tore it down just as the Wastrel rose, wavering slightly. In some incomprehensible way that back view made her feel sorry for Alice. It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it. “Take my advice,” he said hoarsely. Gazing into each other's eyes with new-found rapture, neither observed the sudden appearance in the doorway of an elderly woman in travel-stained linen.
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