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Updated: May 27, 2025
Also, he clutched his pungent prize greedily, and, with a show of spirit, faced his grim waylayer. "No," he said huskily, "I didn't find it on the stairs. It was given to me by Jack Bevens, on the top floor. If you don't believe it, ask him. I'll wait until you do." "I know about Bevens," said Hetty, sourly. "He writes books and things up there for the paper-and-rags man.
We can hear the postman guy him all over the house when he brings them thick envelopes back. Say do you live in the Vallambrosa?" "I do not," said the young man. "I come to see Bevens sometimes. He's my friend. I live two blocks west." "What are you going to do with the onion? begging your pardon," said Hetty. "I'm going to eat it." "Raw?" "Yes: as soon as I get home."
And so is a beef-stew without one. Now, if you're Jack Bevens' friend, I guess you're nearly right. There's a little lady a friend of mine in my room there at the end of the hall. Both of us are out of luck; and we had just potatoes and meat between us. They're stewing now. But it ain't got any soul. There's something lacking to it.
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