These were less like streets than labyrinths, hewn through an eternal twilight. He held in his hands many threads. "Can't!" repeated his mother. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. He left the room, presumably to sleep elsewhere, but the only other room with a fire was the servant’s quarters. Kneebone's special consumption, she added a few impromptu dishes, tossed off in her best style; such as lamb chops, broiled kidneys, fried ham and eggs, and toasted cheese. Almost instantly she had recognized the fallacy of such a statement. This was in Tennessee.
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