Part of his head was swathed in linen bandages. ” “Nor I,” she remarked tersely. Suddenly remembering Kimble, her heart thudded with excitement. She was vehemently impatient—she did not clearly know for what—to do, to be, to experience. ‘But then again, possibly not. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s.
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