Crack went the whip, and away floundered the heavy vehicle through the deep ruts of the ill-kept road, or rather lane, (for it was little better,) which, then, led across Southampton Fields. He kept at it even on those nights when the monsoon began to break with heavy storms and he had to weight down with stones everything on his table. “When one is happy—I don’t like to think of them. Can you afford to give this time? There are your own affairs to think of. ‘And this is not all,’ went on the lady, evidently determined to disclose all her wrongs. The other was helping Trodger with his operation upstairs.
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