Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. Moored to the steps, several wherries were dancing in the rushing current, as if impatient of restraint. The news that his granddaughter desired an audience Lord Charvill had greeted with merely a grunt, which turned into a roar as his gorge rose when he heard that she was accompanied by her husband. “The horse’s knees are broken, and I am not sure that the man is sober. There was something which chilled even him in the cold impassivity of her features.
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