It was not a hopeful looking group. Trust you. She walked over to them still carrying the trousers in her hands, and stooped to examine them. They were bickering, she could tell by the way the mother threw her fat arms into the air and paced restlessly about the tiny clapboard house. It was approached from the street by a flight of broad stone steps, leading to a ponderous door, plated with iron, and secured on the inner side by huge bolts, and a lock, with wards of a prodigious size. Was it ruined?’ ‘But yes, it was entirely ruined.
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