In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made. Ennison kicked it away with his foot. ‘Forgive this intrusion, ma’am, I beg. ” His rhythm slowed to a grind. Everybody, he felt, must be listening behind their papers. What gave the puzzling twist to an ordinary situation was her manner: she was guileless.
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