“Well?” she said. Sheppard's habitation terminated a row of old ruinous buildings, called Wheeler's Rents; a dirty thoroughfare, part street, and part lane, running from Mint Street, through a variety of turnings, and along the brink of a deep kennel, skirted by a number of petty and neglected gardens in the direction of Saint George's Fields. She had no intention whatsoever of spending her life in a convent, but that was not his affair. He now understood her interest in Taber, as he called himself: habit, a twice-told tale.
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