For it was but logical that she would seek a divorce on the ground that she had unknowingly married a fugitive from justice. “What can one say?” she exclaimed. “They make me want to shout,” said Mr. The Times slipped from his fingers. The sense of publicity, of people coming and going about them, kept them both unemotional. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. Lucy grabbed his shirtsleeve, whispering on tiptoe. Ann Veronica jumped up to get her the cardtable. It was a bogus affair altogether, kept by some blackguard or other of an Englishman. ‘You know pretty much everything you need to know. You will be opposite the big entrance in Old Palace Yard. G.
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