org. She was delivered home by 11:30pm. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. She helped herself to the remainder of the slightly congealed bacon, and reverted to the problem of getting her luggage out of the house. "Leave me, Sir; I insist. "Insult you! not I;" returned Figg. Now, no more questions, or I shall be forced to leave the room. You can scribble if you want to, but after you've given your eight hours daily to the mills. Mrs. ‘I hope I do not understand you.
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