Then there was also the horse. "Miss Enschede, you're seven kinds of a brick!" "A brick?" He chuckled. The coach was slowing down, and he realised that they had arrived in Golden Square. He seemed inexorable, and inscrutable as fate itself. Lassitude?” “I suppose so. " "Well, think no more about it," returned Thames. She reads novels—and history—and all sorts of things.
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