The more haste, the worse speed—better the feet slip than the tongue. She felt sharp animal teeth pierce her above her shoulder. The material cares of life hang about your neck like a millstone. There was no one stirring in the flats. The drawers at the moment were too busy to attend to her, and she would have seized the opportunity of examining, unperceived, the assemblage within, through a little curtained window that overlooked the adjoining chamber, if an impediment had not existed in the shape of Baptist Kettleby, whose portly person entirely obscured the view.
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