The factory, dripping with symbolism, straddled the peace line in West Belfast, separating the loyalist Shankill Road from the republican Falls with an entrance at either end for the two communities.
“Good wife,” said Skriegh, gathering up his mouth, and sipping his tiff of brandy punch with great solemnity […]
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[…] the coldness of her lover, the loss of her reputation, all contributed to make her miserable, and to encrease the frenzical disposition of her mind.
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