Everything in this world changed—except human folly. Clotilde pried Fritz from Lucy’s left leg where he was clinging. They are our food, Lucia, nothing more. At least I can’t talk to them. “She will take her risk,” she answered. Accordingly, when she arrived at the Shovels, with which, as an old haunt in her bygone days of wretchedness she was well acquainted, instead of entering the principal apartment, which she saw at a glance was crowded with company of both sexes, she turned into a small room on the left of the bar, and, as an excuse for so doing, called for something to drink.
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