‘Though we might have done, if a certain addlepated clothhead hadn’t let her get away. His gaze dropped to the black garment that covered her. The windows were grated, the doors barred; each room had the name as well as the appearance of a cell; and the very porter who stood at the gate, habited like a jailer, with his huge bunch of keys at his girdle, his forbidding countenance and surly demeanour seemed to be borrowed from Newgate. ’ ‘Glad you’re so sanguine,’ interrupted Captain Roding. “I am convinced you haven’t thought this out,” he went on. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. ‘Come along. She loved the market, the horses trotting about, the bishops forced to be on the same road with old washer-women, the fools begging for a Florin or a ducat. They could not have called it a fatal motor accident if he had not been dead.
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