Lucy inhaled deeply. He wanted to talk with the patient, test him variously; and he wanted to be alone with him while he put these tests. Infested by every description of vagabond and miscreant, it was, perhaps, a few degrees worse than the rookery near Saint Giles's and the desperate neighbourhood of Saffron Hill in our own time. He thought he heard a scraping sound as he turned the handle. But she did not know what he knew, that it would always be rolling up, enlivened by suggestion, no matter how trifling.
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