“Who wouldn’t be for you?” The train began to move. ‘It is you who is the fool,’ she threw at him, whipping round again. The galleries adjoining it were crowded with spectators,—so was the roof of a large tavern, then the only house standing at the end of the Edgeware Road,—so were the trees,—the walls of Hyde Park,—a neighbouring barn, a shed,—in short, every available position. "My worst fears are realized.
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