It was dusty, with dirty clothing strewn about, a cracked basin thick with grime on the rickety dresser, and a film of grease on the leaded casement. "I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in Guildhall. ‘I can’t do that. They are not your flowers. O'Higgins eyed it thoughtfully. She was perfectly aware that the boy had gotten some sort of bug in his craw over her despite her sloppy, strange appearance.
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