9 <2> THE UNTIMELY DEMISE OF RAY PLOTE Later that night after the dishes were washed and the garbage taken out, Lucy and the Beck's natural daughter retired to their shared bedroom. If you were ten years younger, you'd have me wondering. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. He then scaled the northern tower, and made his way to the summit of that part of the prison which fronted Giltspur Street. That was the true marvel of it. Now Owen Wood had one fair child, Unlike her mother, meek and mild; Her love the draper strove to gain, But she repaid him with disdain. He was standing by, rating her ladyship,—who can scarcely stir from the sofa,—while I was packing up her jewels in the case, and I observed that she tried to hide a small casket from him. "What is it you want?" she asked, as she held out the coat. “Oh, but life is difficult!” she groaned.
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