\" His brown eyes were tired and full of concern. Then a handkerchief was thrown over the cage, to prevent the bird from singing; it was her favourite canary. His job as a painter was wearing him down acutely as he aged. That night, she hunted the alleyways of the old town. It’s a tremendous blow, of course—but it doesn’t kill me. Such pretty manners, she thought. "Vell, vell," growled Sharples, after he had listened to the other's remonstrances, "it shall be done.
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