For a time she could scarcely believe he was gone. His obtuse hands punched and jabbed at her uselessly, then he throttled her neck with the last of his strength. She looked at me as though I were some unclean thing, as though my soul were weighted with every sin in the calendar. One small wing lay at the north of the gate, where Giltspur Street Compter now stands; and the Press Yard, which was detached from the main building, was situated at the back of Phoenix Court.
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