He was holding the ring to the light, and narrowly examining the inscription. It had rained during the night, and the patch-work pavement was greasy with mud. About the Abbey and Abingdon Street stood the outer pickets and detachments of the police, their attention all directed westward to where the women in Caxton Hall, Westminster, hummed like an angry hive. "For my part, it's only what I expected of him," observed Mrs. ” His arms were around her.
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