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Updated: June 23, 2025
His lease ran out in the spring, and happily he didn't care to renew. Had bought himself an up-to-date, villa residence somewhere in the suburbs Chistlehurst, I believe. So I took the place over. It will do for a beginning the small end of the wedge of my scavenger's business.
Why, they might just as well be thrown into the gutter and carried off in the scavenger's cart. However, Thomas intervened: "Isn't there an Asylum for the Invalids of Labour, and couldn't your husband get admitted to it?" he asked. "It seems to me that is just the place for him." "Oh dear, no," the woman answered. "People spoke to me of that place before, and I got particulars of it.
Seated along with these are two upper-class domestics, a hack-driver, an ex-gendarme dismissed from the corps, a cobbler on the street corner, a runner on errands who was once a carter's boy, and another who, two months before this, was a scavenger's apprentice, the latter penniless and in tatters before he became one of the Committee, and since that, well clad, lodged and furnished.
A miserable, dull hopelessness possessed him. "It's part of the business," he muttered. "Then it's a rotten business," retorted the horseman. "Do you have to do this?" "Somebody has to get the news." "News! Scavenger's filth. See here, Banneker, I'm sorry I roughed you about the whip. But, to ask a man questions about the women of his own family No: I'm damned if I get it."
Forester inquired into the cause of her distress, and she told him that a few minutes after he left her, the young gentleman who had been thrown from his horse into the scavenger's cart was brought into her house, whilst his servant went home for another suit of clothes for him.
They say "mea culpa," "damn," or "Kismet," according to their various traditions, and go forth comforted to their workaday pursuits. I envy them. I enter this exquisite Torture Chamber, and I shriek at the first twinge of the thumbscrew and faint at the preliminary embraces of the scavenger's daughter. I envy a fellow like Caesar Borgia.
I saw another instrument, called the scavenger's daughter. Imagine a pair of shears with handles, not only where they now are, but at the points as well and just above the pivot that unites the blades a circle of iron.
Such appellations, without a doubt, are stimulating and glamorous. But if the streets themselves have seen a scavenger's broom within the last half-century, I am much mistaken. The goddess "Hygeia" dost not figure among their names, nor yet that Byzantine Monarch whose infantile exploit might be re-enacted in ripest maturity without attracting any attention in San Demetrio.
Why, they might just as well be thrown into the gutter and carried off in the scavenger's cart. However, Thomas intervened: "Isn't there an Asylum for the Invalids of Labour, and couldn't your husband get admitted to it?" he asked. "It seems to me that is just the place for him." "Oh dear, no," the woman answered. "People spoke to me of that place before, and I got particulars of it.
She had broken gaol, as she fondly imagined, and secured liberty. Not a bit of it! In the hour of reconciliation, of sweetest security, she met her gaoler face to face and heard the key grind in the lock. Save for the occasional passing of a market waggon, or high-shouldered scavenger's cart, the road was deserted.
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