Such apartments as she saw were either scandalously dirty or unaccountably dear, or both. But the love of life prevailed over his fears. Love and lavender, he thought, perhaps wistfully. The young lady—if she had come in here at all—had vanished. A militiaman came belting down the stairs, another leapt from outside the front door, and a third, stalwart and stolid, came in through the door that led to the rooms to the front of the house.
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