Mauled about!” She fell to rubbing her insulted lips savagely with the back of her hand. Stanley came home at a quarter to six—an earlier train by fifteen minutes than he affected—his sister met him in the hall with a hushed expression. “Holy shit!” Giggling and snickering was amplified by asbestos tiles and reverberated by metal desks. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s.
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