“Why not? It might amuse me. You’re a little late, you must remember, and we are punctual people here. ‘No sense in snooping about down here,’ Gerald whispered. I struck him across the face, jumped out and went back by train to Paris. Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. Jack! Mon dieu, but he was unarmed. I met you here as Lady Ferringhall.
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