You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. The crowner's 'quest sat on her yesterday—and if she hadn't been proved out of her mind, she would have been buried at four lane-ends. At a little after five, on that day, four horses dashed round the corner of the Old Bailey, and drew up before the door of the Lodge. It had ceased to beat.
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