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It was his heart. Gives you a right to hang on to the old man until he busts—practically. Sheppard. A solemn consideration, when I enter a great city at night, that every one of those darkly clustered houses encloses its own secret; that every room in every one of them encloses its own secret; that every beating heart in the hundreds of thousands of breasts there, is, in some of its imaginings, a secret to the heart nearest it!' … It kind of terrifies me," said Ruth, looking up, first at the face of her husband, then at McClintock's. He knocked his pipe on the teak rail. It was not human and yet very human, a high pitched wail of hunger that rattled her skull. "My coat!" Ruth did not move but stared astonishedly at the patient. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s.
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