You come to visit a completely different gentleman at his home. “And yet,” he said, “you bid me talk cheerfully, or not at all. "Are you hurt, Thames?" asked Jack, anxiously. In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made. Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair.
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