She thought of leaving the Beck house less and less these days, though the suitcase remained packed underneath her creaky bed. In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made. This was the bitterest hour he had ever known. "There's no outlet that way. Tol-de-rol!" As Jack concluded his ditty, the door flew open with a crash, and Thames sprang through the aperture.
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