ToC During the whole of the next day and night, the poor widow hovered like a ghost about the precincts of the debtors' garrison,—for admission (by the Master's express orders,) was denied her. The effects of the heroin wore off slowly. She was noisy and hilarious and enthusiastic, and her hair was always abominably done. It arises, I think, from an over developed sense of humour. She went to a writing-desk and made some memoranda on a sheet of note-paper, and then remembered that she had no address as yet to which letters could be sent. Still no sound. Everything was blurred. The next minute, I contrived, without either of 'em perceiving me, to convey it into my own pocket.
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