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The prostitute’s attack was predictable, typical. Old Bethlehem, or Bedlam,—every trace of which has been swept away, and the hospital for lunatics removed to Saint George's Field,—was a vast and magnificent structure. ” “Yes,” she said, and abruptly she liked him enormously. The drawers at the moment were too busy to attend to her, and she would have seized the opportunity of examining, unperceived, the assemblage within, through a little curtained window that overlooked the adjoining chamber, if an impediment had not existed in the shape of Baptist Kettleby, whose portly person entirely obscured the view. She barely heard a word that Martin or Brown said, until Martin’s voice chimed.
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