Grace-church Street was entirely deserted, except by a few stragglers, whose curiosity got the better of their fears; or who, like the carpenter, were compelled to proceed along it. ‘It had better not be, by God,’ had barked Captain Hilary Roding. Perhaps at the first blush—it strikes you as odd. "My portrait!" echoed Jack. She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping.
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