Unconscious that his movements were watched, Shotbolt, meanwhile, hastened towards Wych Street. Ramage demurred. Wood wound it up by a description of the drenching he had undergone at the Mint pump, the other could hold out no longer, but, leaning back in his chair, gave free scope to his merriment. On a high chair behind a raised counter the stipendiary’s substitute regarded her malevolently over his glasses.
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