Crack went the whip, and away floundered the heavy vehicle through the deep ruts of the ill-kept road, or rather lane, (for it was little better,) which, then, led across Southampton Fields. But all that could be ascertained in the village was, that a man had ridden off a short time before in the direction of London. You know, I’ve done no work at all this afternoon. “We’ll go to a place where we can have a private room,” he said. ” “Let us say that Café Maston, in the Boulevard des Italiennes, at half-past seven then,” he decided.
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