She turned the gas up in her little sitting-room, and sank wearily into an easy chair. Wood—and after him came his daughter. Abruptly would come the end. Either Sydney or Mr. You don't want me to spoil the story, do you?" "No. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. " "May be," returned the man gravely. "Begone! or I fire!" he cried.
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