“Had the pleasure of dining with you at the ‘Ambassador’s’ one night, before the show, you know—last September I think it was. They sat in the front row. Giles's church, the bell of which continued tolling all the time, passed the pound, and entered Oxford Road, or, as it was then not unfrequently termed, Tyburn Road. It was the girl. Niece and aunt regarded each other for a moment over their pockethandkerchiefs with watery but antagonistic eyes, each far too profoundly moved to see the absurdity of the position.
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