Unless—’ Something clicked in his mind and he stared at his friend without seeing him. “Take my advice,” he said hoarsely. “Don’t you think I ought to?” she asked, very submissively. Hitherto you’ve seen only my easy, kindly side. He was always forgetting that his tummy was fifty-four years old. The coachman answered by a surly grunt, and, plying his whip with redoubled zeal, shaped his course down Dyot Street; traversed that part of Holborn, which is now called Broad Street, and where two ancient alms-houses were, then, standing in the middle of that great thoroughfare, exactly opposite the opening of Compston Street; and, diving under a wide gateway on the left, soon reached a more open space, surrounded by mean habitations, coach-houses and stables, called Kendrick Yard, at the further end of which Saint Giles's round-house was situated. “After all, it’s our honeymoon. E. Maybe it’s his loss.
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