Wood's favourite sitting-room, and her image was so intimately associated with it, neither the carpenter nor his daughter could muster courage to enter it before. Her husband was drinking in the tavern with the other guests. “You no longer belong to Gianfrancesco. It was as if Grace-church Street, with all its shops, its magazines, and ceaseless throng of passengers, were stretched from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore. John knew everybody, it seemed.
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