In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made. He cocked an eyebrow. ” His eyes were squeezed shut. The house was redolent with the smells of cinnamon baking and the stuffed turkey and marinated pork roast. ” “I borrowed it,” said Ann Veronica in a casual tone, with white despair in her heart.
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