What of Gosse, whom those soldiers had allowed to escape? Hiding—or perhaps gone. 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. “DON’T!” she said, and wrenched her wrist from his retaining hand. Wood, disdainfully. This is a joke of yours.
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