On the groundfloor the shutters were closed, or, to speak more correctly, altogether nailed up, and presented a very singular appearance, being patched all over with the soles of old shoes, rusty hobnails, and bits of iron hoops, the ingenious device of the former occupant of the apartment, Paul Groves, the cobbler, to whom we have before alluded. Straitened circumstances would not have mattered; a mother would have managed somehow. “So how about this Friday?” He asked. I have the right also to throw you out.
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This video was uploaded to jandlonmark.org on 30-06-2024 12:46:18
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