The thought did not occur to her, for all thought had flown out of her head. She dropped beside the chair, sat cross-legged, and laughed at the futile jade-coloured wall. "There he is!" "I fear not," said her father, with a doubtful shake of the head. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. "Oh gracious! he's lost. Saint Giles's Round-house XIII.
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