They agreed to lend her their hold-all and a large, formless bag which they called the communal trunk. “Just the box only. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. Muffling up his face, Jack turned away; but he had not proceeded many steps when he heard a man reading aloud an account of his escapes from a newspaper. "If I had my old tools with me, we'd soon master this obstacle," he muttered. There she sought and at last found 107A, one of those heterogeneous piles of offices which occupy the eastern side of the lane.
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