The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. “Girls of sixteen do not need their own laundry hampers. You must not, however, accompany me, Jack. Sebastian, too, seemed to be immune, even though cats, dogs, and beasts of the suffered just as the humans did: blackening and dying, their eyes rolling, their bodies covered with bald buboes. Having made a tolerably good meal upon the loaf, overcome by fatigue, Jack turned into a barn in Stoke Newington, and slept till late in the day, when he awakened much refreshed.
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