“Oh, yes,” the stranger remarked good-humouredly. The storm burst upon them in its fury. He was placed in a coach, handcuffed, and heavily fettered, and guarded by a vast posse of officers to Temple Bar, where a fresh relay of constables escorted him to Westminster. If I’d meant it, my girl, you’d be dead meat. It was wonderful. Fine woman, Lady Trafford—a little on the wane though.
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