There were doorways to peer into, dim cluttered holes with shadowy forms moving about, potters and rug-weavers. The violence of the collision nearly threw him backwards, and caused him to swerve as he sprang. Nobody can anticipate your next move. ‘Oh, the Frenchie. It could not be she who had done this. It was bad luck to go to Canongate. He now understood her interest in Taber, as he called himself: habit, a twice-told tale.
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