She opened the door to him herself. His face was a little flushed perhaps, and his small, brown eyes were bright. Hurrying down the Haymarket, he was arrested by a crowd who were collected round a street-singer. Dim souls flitted about her, not only speaking but it would seem even thinking in undertones. And, anyhow, it doesn’t matter to us. At the expiration of an hour, by dint of unremitting exertion, he had made so large a breach in the chimney, that he could stand upright in it.
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