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"Get a chair, Austin. Old Newgate 302 X. " "There you are, just as I said. “And what is it all about, Veronica?” he asked, with a deliberate note of irony, looking at her a little quizzically over his glasses. The road from Surbiton and Epsom ran under the arch, and, like a bright fungoid growth in the ditch, there was now appearing a sort of fourth estate of little redand-white rough-cast villas, with meretricious gables and very brassy windowblinds. A creeping numbness invaded her. Footman or some such. " "Very well, sir.
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