“What were you doing?” Her voice was a little hysterical. We have both tried hard to develop it—you and I —and we have failed. ‘Come, I am concerned merely for your safety, you know. Your old rooms are there, if you choose. The cage at Willesden was, and is—for it is still standing—a small round building about eight feet high, with a pointed tiled roof, to which a number of boards, inscribed with the names of the parish officers, and charged with a multitude of admonitory notices to vagrants and other disorderly persons, are attached. Neither of them joined in the applause which followed upon her exit. I suppose because it IS the chief thing in life.
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