The hurricane had now reached its climax. She twanged the catgut under her fingers. “Queer letters he writes,” she said. They had got all this down already—they heard the substance of it now for the fourteenth time. At last, a little way to the northward of Euston Road, the moral cloud seemed to lift, the moral atmosphere to change; clean blinds appeared in the windows, clean doorsteps before the doors, a different appeal in the neatly placed cards bearing the word ————————————— | APARTMENTS ————————————— | in the clear bright windows. I finally got my own set of house keys when I turned eleven. Never mind. " "And so will I," said Austin.
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