In the upper hall he paused to listen. Brendon made a quick movement forward. “You can’t imagine,” Sydney exclaimed, “that the people downstairs will be such drivelling asses as to believe piffle like that. \" He said. "You've got him?" demanded Ireton. She was marvellously pretty, but he was not quite sure—yet—that it was advisable for him to sit with her in so public a place. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. Surely it was a dream.
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