The houses on Snow Hill were thronged, like those in Old Bailey. The Vorsack house bore the stamp of Diane in every visible spot. " "Liar!" ejaculated Thames. She would take the items with her; bury the items and her bloodstained clothes in one of the many sinkholes in the huge landfill/garbage dump on the south side of town. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. Most people, every one I know else, seem to have mated with foreigners and to talk uneasily in unfamiliar tongues, to be afraid of the knowledge the other one has, of the other one’s perpetual misjudgment and misunderstandings. It’s all very handsome starting out on your own, but it’s too damned hard.
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