You know, I’ve done no work at all this afternoon. She thought of the suitcase, the seventy-seven dollars for a Greyhound ticket that had expired. The place was pockmarked with window-like holes everywhere—people were always 138 falling into them and breaking bones--it was for these lookouts why she had chosen it. Jack was almost afraid of speaking; but at length he summoned courage to call out "Mother!" "Who's there?" asked a faint voice from the bed. But all this business has driven it clean out of my head.
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