“I have stood it for a month, Anna,” he exclaimed. There is something that inspires a feeling of inexpressible melancholy in sailing on a dark night upon the Thames. It isn’t as though I haven’t done well. Perhaps Ferringhall has pensioned her off. From this spot a road, more resembling the drive through a park than a public thoroughfare, led him gradually to the brow of Dollis Hill. ‘Here we go again. “But where are you going? Lucy, you’re safe here. More,’ he said, ‘but I’m told it’s the most amusing thing in London at the present time.
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