A post-chaise seen in the road first alarmed us. The recollection was too painful, and he burst into an agony of tears. The major himself told me that this secret passage started upstairs. “Good-bye, John,” she said simply. “Drive to 13, Montague Street, cabman,” she ordered. To use it as a passport to card-tables and gin-bottles! McClintock wasn't having any guests; at any rate, he had not mentioned the fact.
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