We were to live in some wretched London suburb. It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it. "I shall be obliged to hang him to keep him company. ’ ‘That is what you think? Let us try!’ ‘Don’t be idiotic!’ She was backing from him, reaching through one of the slits she had carefully manufactured in her petticoat. " "O Jack, dear, dear Jack!" cried Mrs. Wood," she continued, in an authoritative tone, seeing her husband ready to depart, "one word before you set out. “I see the difficulty. Why? Because he knew that when these two young people left, the island would become intolerable. I’d rather not go,” she added.
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