"All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. My people don’t know what to do. "The gentleman is a stranger to me, Poll," replied the woollen-draper, with increased embarrassment. It was a dark mysterious place, and what it was used for no one exactly knew; but it was called by those who had seen it the Well Hole. You were with your mother, the two of you huddled like thieves, laughing at the silly women who tried to shield themselves from rain by cowering under empty baskets and shawls.
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