Gianfrancesco had told her about it, how he had played in it as a child with his brothers. It engulfed them in black, white, and gray. His age was not far from fifty. “Only four spoonsful left,” she declared briskly, “and your turn to buy the next pound, Sydney. Wood," added she in a hollow voice, and with a ghastly look, "gin may bring ruin; but as long as poverty, vice, and ill-usage exist, it will be drunk. “They all catch on,” she said. It filled her with indefinable fear. She clenched her hands together and leaned forward in her chair, gazing steadily into the fire. At first she thought he was endeavouring to rid himself of the fleas, but after a time she came to understand that the muck had healing qualities and soothed the burning scratches made by his claws.
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