Their very furniture had mysteriously a high-browed quality, and Mr. ” “That settles it. She would then hear his feet pounding up the steps and he would burst into whatever room she was sitting in and say, “There she is! My wife! Hiding her beauty from the world!” He would then run to her, grab her book or embroidery and unceremoniously toss them to the floor. Traversing what remained of Wych Street at a rapid pace, and speeding along Drury Lane, the trio soon found themselves in Kendrick Yard. “But—your people!” she gasped. “Perhaps,” she said, “it is the London climate.
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