At a little after five, on that day, four horses dashed round the corner of the Old Bailey, and drew up before the door of the Lodge. Furious shouting, and the thunder of running feet. If Miss Charvill should take it into her head to dash off on some foolish errand, go with her by all means. Rain pounded the tin roof, and waterfalls obscured the pavilion into its own private 91 chamber.
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