Hastening to the spot where he had tied his horse to a tree, he vaulted into the saddle, and rode off across the fields,—for he was fearful of encountering the hostile party,—till he reached the Edgeware Road. He is the kind of man who would much prefer a little dust in his eyes. Charvill’s fury was burning out. ‘Don’t concern yourself, Hilary. She was noisy and hilarious and enthusiastic, and her hair was always abominably done. She was not afraid of violence, but she was afraid of something mean, some secondary kind of force.
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