It’s on the horse. " "Wood!" exclaimed Trenchard,—"of Wych Street?" "The same. So, why did you slam the door in John Diedermayer's face?\" Lucy did not look at her, but cocked her head skyward. The echo of those kindly words seemed still to ring in her ears. Strongly impregnated with the mingled odours of tobacco, ale, brandy, and other liquors, the atmosphere was almost stifling.
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