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Updated: May 2, 2025
For Keggo was drinking. Keggo had been drinking for years and years and now Keggo had walled herself away in Limpen Street to drink and drink, still secretly with the sharp cunning of the secret drinker, but now with cunning only necessary when of her own wish she met the world.
When she could cry for pure compassion for another she was still too too ardent for Limpen Street to be seen as it has been presented.
But at first, while the lapses were few and the cunning was equal to them, only a closer friendship was set afoot between the woman that was grown and the woman that was burgeoning, and there were such very happy evenings in the room in Limpen Street. Such jolly talks.
They are the repositories of creatures, not that have done with life, for the sheer fact of living acknowledges service to life, but with whom life has done. These came to be Rosalie's thoughts of this street Limpen Street but they could not have been hers when she was first going there to spend evenings with Miss Keggs, for it was in her earlier visits there to Keggo that she cried there.
There was always in the little room in Limpen Street that strange disagreeable smell of bad eau-de-Cologne that always had hung about the little room at the Sultana's. Beastly things.... But they were not felt to be beastly by Rosalie, then. They are said here to be beastly, for they were beastly, only in excuse for Rosalie afterwards.
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