He looked up to see an ancient coach making its ponderous way down the street. It’s Italian. “What a hideous repertoire! If you are in earnest about wanting to earn money, why on earth don’t you accept an engagement here?” “An engagement?” she queried. His gray eyes were closed, his persimmon-colored lips open and panting. That's worth something to me; for I don't mind paying for revenge. The procession now wound its way, without further interruption, along Holborn. “Someone must have found it and taken good care of it.
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