The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. Visiting? Dressed for it, certainly. She went on from street to street, and all the glory of London had departed. 137 The living conditions of her kills were often so sordid that she would spend hours washing them off of her, and August brought her to the Greene River once again, scrubbing the stink from her hair with Ivory Liquid Dishwashing Detergent. "You must take it to Sir Rowland Trenchard's in Southampton Fields.
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