She sat on the edge of her bed and looked about her, at her room, at the row of black-covered books and the pig’s skull. "Whose house do you want, master?" said the man, touching his hat. The aspect of the place, so far as he could discern through the gloom, was strange to him; but chancing to raise his eyes above the level of the surrounding habitations, he beheld, relieved against the sombre sky, the tall steeple of Saint Giles's church, the precursor of the present structure, which was not erected till some fifteen years later. There she sought and at last found 107A, one of those heterogeneous piles of offices which occupy the eastern side of the lane. "I can't make you understand; I can't make you see things as I see them. I know who hits hardest. The woollen-draper was no despicable trencherman in a general way; but his feats with the knife and fork were child's sport compared with those of Mr. Most unsatisfactory. I—I don’t understand,” the man faltered wearily.
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