Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. Observe it—a blue-serge coat. Always her prayers ended—'And may my beautiful mother guide me!' No. "Stay!" cried Wood, "this is a most perplexing business—if you really are privy to the affair——" "We'll talk of it to-morrow, Sir," returned Jackson, cutting him short. Twice Spurlock went to Copeley's—twenty miles to the northwest—for ice and mail. "Vell, vell," growled Sharples, after he had listened to the other's remonstrances, "it shall be done.
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