95 The officer showed her into the sleepy suburban police station, a hub of inactivity on Sunday night except for herself and a slightly drunk woman who had been brought in for DUI. At last, a little way to the northward of Euston Road, the moral cloud seemed to lift, the moral atmosphere to change; clean blinds appeared in the windows, clean doorsteps before the doors, a different appeal in the neatly placed cards bearing the word ————————————— | APARTMENTS ————————————— | in the clear bright windows. Wood. With the extra seventy-five pounds she had put after birthing her final son, Steven, her knees weren’t in good shape to be running up and down stairs all day. He could scarcely blame her. "What shall I say? Shall I tell you, or shall I leave you in the dark—as I must always leave her? What shall I say except that I am accursed of men? Yes; I have loved something—her mother. There is scarcely one chance in a dozen of saving his life; there would be none at all if he were moved. You might be able to use the picture some day.
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