Why don’t you go in? Charvill is there. His cheeks were puffy, and his eyes blood-shot. She saw marks in the dirt where he had been pacing. Then suddenly her spirit rose in revolt. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. In Paris, in July, a raging mob had stormed the Bastille, provoking circumspect aristocrats to uproot themselves and take refuge abroad. But with Gosse and the woman in prison here, there is always the chance that the whole affair may be raked up all over again. Still, here we are in this dingy, foggy city. But Miss Stanley took no notice of these things. Say I’m out, away, anything!” “I am sorry, sir,” the man answered, “but she had sent away her hansom before I answered the bell. He walked unsteadily towards the door.
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