‘But I’ve known that for years. Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn. ’ To be sure there was a way. 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 thought that he was dead.
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