There were doorways to peer into, dim cluttered holes with shadowy forms moving about, potters and rug-weavers. Lucy sprinted to one side to avoid the crash and grabbed at Rhea’s solitary patch of yellow hair, which ripped out loosely in one decayed piece like strands of rotten corn silk. On coming to himself, he found he had been wrapped in a blanket and put to bed with a couple of hot bricks to his feet. Sheppard's house, loud yells and vociferations reached his ears; and, looking downwards, he perceived a great stir amid the mob. You don’t know what you ask nor what you say.
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