In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made. She had asked about that already, and her father had replied, evasively: “We’ll have to see about that, little Vee; we’ll have to see about that. Old and dilapidated, the widow's domicile looked the very picture of desolation and misery. With this she now entered. The more haste, the worse speed—better the feet slip than the tongue. Believe me, Anna. ” He said wistfully.
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