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Shotbolt nodded in token of acquiescence, and emitted an odd guttural sound. "It's too late to carry 'em before a magistrate now, Sir Rowland; so, with your permission, I'll give 'em a night's lodging in Saint Giles's round-house. She met his eye for a moment in curious surprise. He kept his keen eyes steadily fixed on Thames, as if awaiting to be addressed. But—Miss Pellissier!” “Well?” “Are you quite sure that you want us this evening? Wouldn’t you rather be alone? Just say the word, and we’ll clear out like a shot. “I doubted my luck, at least.
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