“Mr. He began to tell me something—and stopped. The cage at Willesden was, and is—for it is still standing—a small round building about eight feet high, with a pointed tiled roof, to which a number of boards, inscribed with the names of the parish officers, and charged with a multitude of admonitory notices to vagrants and other disorderly persons, are attached. She must get to the vestry. Wood?" "With pleasure," replied the woollen-draper. He stopped on the curb-stone, not facing her but as if he was on his way to cross the road, and spoke to her suddenly over his shoulder. He was beautiful despite the odd angle. This one too she read. “So Cheveney was her friend, you think, eh?” he remarked.
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