ToC Nearly nine years after the events last recorded, and about the middle of May, 1724, a young man of remarkably prepossessing appearance took his way, one afternoon, along Wych Street; and, from the curiosity with which he regarded the houses on the left of the road, seemed to be in search of some particular habitation. "Don't alarm yourself about him, Sir," replied Austin. I must!” She threw open the door and pointed to it. ’ ‘Precisely. She looked at him confusedly, his black hair glinting under the dim lights. Nasty, damp passages. I’m leaving you, and you can’t stop me. ” She muttered some unlady-like comment upon herself under her breath and engaged in secret additions. She went past three keenly observant and ostentatiously preoccupied waiters down the thickcarpeted staircase and out of the Hotel Rococo, that remarkable laboratory of relationships, past a tall porter in blue and crimson, into a cool, clear night. Lady Ferringhall listened, and her cheeks grew pale.
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