With the extra seventy-five pounds she had put after birthing her final son, Steven, her knees weren’t in good shape to be running up and down stairs all day. If he stayed in the basement apartment as was his usual habit, she would have no problem. "Another such attempt," said the latter, "and you are a dead man. Wood, was much better furnished with eatables than might have been expected, and boasted a loaf, a knuckle of ham, a meat-pie, and a flask of wine.
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