“Well, well, Martin. It was high afternoon, there was no great throng of footpassengers, and many an eye from omnibus and pavement rested gratefully on her fresh, trim presence as she passed young and erect, with the light of determination shining through the quiet self-possession of her face. When the twins had first come to live in the 208 house, they were thin and bony, their tiny mouths crying for food. She came to spend hours with the bastard children that the women brought, dressing and feeding the tiny ones, inventing games for the older ones. She was tired, hungry—and thus somewhat impatient for the food Mrs Ibstock might bring—and downcast.
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