Sheila decided to do a little laundry one day, clothes that were in Lucy’s hamper, a dirty clothes bin that Lucy had insisted that she have for herself separate from the family one. “I may not see the Widgetts for some little time, father,” she said. As he gazed down into the courts of the prison, he could not help shuddering, lest a false step might precipitate him below. Dim possibilities that she would not seem to look at even to herself gesticulated in the twilight background of her mind. Arrived at his habitation, Jonathan knocked in a peculiar manner at the door, which was instantly opened by the grim-visaged porter just alluded to.
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