148 “Sure. Her acrid rose perfume oil that hung in the air that smelled like a head shop, her V. ‘But on the off chance—slim, I grant you —that there is a spy down there, I don’t want to miss the fun. Remain at the door, Nab," he added, loitering for a moment behind the others, "and let no one in, or out. ’ ‘Of what use to be ladylike when I cannot be a lady?’ ‘None of that. Oh God! my limbs fail me. It was a dark mysterious place, and what it was used for no one exactly knew; but it was called by those who had seen it the Well Hole. Had it not been for the Plague, she might have had her own babies.
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