“You be off, missie,” said the fatherly policeman. She hung about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which refused to rise to her tongue. ‘That is what she wants, is it?’ ‘Do you blame her?’ he said stiffly. Sepulchre's clock struck eight. “Her ladyship dined at home,” the man answered.
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