Cheveney strolled up, a pipe in his mouth. 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. I want to talk to you, and I must return tomorrow. No more scuffling. She felt a hysterical desire to strike him, to burst out crying, to blurt out the whole miserable truth. His countenance was almost as white and rigid as that of the corpse by his side.
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