‘I beg your pardon?’ said Gerald. The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance. Somewhere she had read that it was the proper thing to do and that men liked to be alone with their tobacco. The owner of this dress had a broad weather-beaten face, small twinkling eyes, and a bushy, grizzled beard.
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