And yet to Spurlock it was only the title of a story he would some day write. Starting off at a rapid pace, Jack dashed down Turnagain-lane, skirted the eastern bank of Fleet-ditch, crossed Holborn Bridge, and began to ascend the neighbouring hill. Anna watched her from the windows, watched the carriage jolt away along the cobbled street and disappear. Certainly, we—that is Jarvis and I— knew nothing of it until after Mary’s death. Then Manning flopped back in his chair and dropped his chin like a man shot.
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