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He squinted into Ogdens lace and muttered, in what was clearly supposed to be an offensive tone, "Now I come to think about it, I've seen noses like yours down in the village." "I don't doubt it, if your sons been let loose on them," said Og-den. "Perhaps we could continue this discussion inside." "Inside." "Yes, Mr. Gaunt. I've already told you. I'm here about Morfin. We sent an owl —" "I've no use for owls," said Gaunt. "I don't open letters." "Then you can hardly complain that you get no warning of visitors," said Ogden tartly.
"I am here following a serious breach of Wizarding law, which occurred here in the early hours of this morning —" "All right, all right, all right!" bellowed Gaunt. "Come in the bleeding house, then, and much good it'll do you!" The house seemed to contain three tiny rooms. Two doors led off the main room, which served as kitchen and living room combined. Morfin was sitting in a filthy armchair beside the smoking fire, twisting a live adder between his thick fingers and crooning softly at it in Parseltongue: Hissy, hissy, little snakey, Slither on the floor You be good to Morfin Or he'll nail you to the door.
There was a scuffling noise in the corner beside the open window, and Harry realized that there was somebody else in the room, a girl whose ragged gray dress was the exact color of the dirty stone wall behind her. She was standing beside a steaming pot on a grimy black stove, and was fiddling around with the shelf of squalid-looking pots and pans above it. Her hair was lank and dull and she had a plain, pale, rather heavy face. Her eyes, like her brother's, stared in opposite directions. She looked a little cleaner than the two men, but Harry thought he had never seen a more defeated-looking person.
"M'daughter, Merope," said Gaunt grudgingly, as Ogden looked inquiringly toward her.
"Good morning," said Ogden.
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