Turning off again on the left, down Seacoal Lane, they arrived at the mouth of a dark, narrow alley, into which they plunged; and, at the farther extremity found a small yard, overlooked by the blank walls of a large gloomy habitation. The Iron Bar. She felt that for a time at any rate her depressing struggle against continual failure was at an end. Profligate women are never reclaimed.
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