" There was a roaring in her ears like that of angry waters. There were doorways to peer into, dim cluttered holes with shadowy forms moving about, potters and rug-weavers. She was glad when he went on: “I want to be your city of refuge from every sort of bother. He, who had faced the gale, would have been instantly stifled. She expanded that. " "Surely, you haven't stolen it?" "Stolen's an awkward word.
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