"How go you like your quarters, sauce-box?" asked Sharples, in a jeering tone. He pictured himself visiting the girl in this shabby little home of her aunt’s—she had told him that it was shabby—and he recalled that delicious little smile with which she would surely greet him, a smile which seemed to be a matter of the eyes as well as the lips. “I am sure,” she said, “that you mean to stay until you are turned out. “I came directly I was disengaged,” Anna answered. I am not comfortable,’ complained Madame Valade.
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