The houses were older, the shops gloomier, and the thoroughfare narrower, it is true; but the bustle, the crowd, the street-like air was the same. “Too greasy for me. I love my husband. Our heads swim with the thought of being together. She must weigh her situation. Almost at once she had comprehended that she was expected to write down her name and address, which she did, in slanting cobwebby lettering, perhaps a trifle laboriously. And you think I would marry you?’ ‘Why not? I am unworthy, eh? Because I am a servant.
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