The procession now wound its way, without further interruption, along Holborn. “Who’ll mind the baby nar?” was one of the night’s inspirations, and very frequent. Her father held some printed document in his hand, and appeared not to observe her entry. Let this be a caution to you in future—with whom, and about what you deal. And taking the keys, he departed on the errand. Soon the trunk, portmanteau and hat box were ready. The curtains which she had left drawn were open, and the electric lights were turned on.
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