A short flight of steps brought him to a dark passage, into which he plunged. “I’ve been to hear you lots of times. This woman, contrary to his custom, he answered. “It was my sister Anna. . . She leaped to a world of shabby knowledge, of furtive base realizations. They came teeming distressfully through her aching brain: “A man can kick, his skirts don’t tear; A man scores always, everywhere. ” Her urge to drink deeply of his blood was growing insane, ignited by what he had already donated. Jonathan Wild's House in the Old Bailey XVII.
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