“Dear husband,” she murmured. Breakfast, too, was an impossible occasion. She limited herself to eating once a fortnight, until she discovered that she could go without comfortably for a month. "I eat for both. Do you understand?” “I do not,” he answered. I loathe this room. Through this confusion the carpenter struggled on;—now ascending, now descending the different mountains of rubbish that beset his path, at the imminent peril of his life and limbs, until he arrived in Fleet Street.
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