The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. Without her, it was lonely. The other individual, who was a little in advance, was concealed from the stranger's view. "It's wretched enough, indeed, Sir," rejoined the widow; "but, poor as it is, it's better than the cold stones and open streets. Her fingers were bursting through her gloves, as if to get at once into touch with Ann Veronica.
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