It was perfectly logical. Spurlock began to munch his water-chestnuts. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. She sensed a pelvic exam coming on. It was not human and yet very human, a high pitched wail of hunger that rattled her skull. So, one day, because God was wroth, her mother ran away with a blackguard, and died in the gutter, miserably. Because I’m younger than you.
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