\" \"Wow. In one of the cabins a man sat on the edge of his narrow bunk. Shy, grateful in her loneliness for this unexpected attention, she had listened. He looked at her in some embarrassment. It was as if Grace-church Street, with all its shops, its magazines, and ceaseless throng of passengers, were stretched from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore. Lord, what a state I was in! Night after night I sat there, I watched her come in, I watched her go. —Strype's Stow.
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