She could hardly speak to me; she insisted relentlessly upon a separation. You are my prisoner, murderer. And then, as she stood there, with the fragments of the torn canvas at her feet, some even caught upon her skirt, the door was thrown open, and a girl entered humming a light tune. Sometimes—a lonely forlorn child—she had gone to him and put her arms around his neck. The condition of the rooms was indescribably filthy and disgusting; nor were the habits of the occupants much more cleanly.
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