” He said. “Is this hansom for me?” she said. . . . A fresh cool breeze blew in their faces. A thin line of red appeared in the white neck. There were neither texts nor rubbish on the walls, but only a stirring version of Belshazzar’s feast, a steel engraving in the early Victorian manner that had some satisfactory blacks. I was in Lancashire, at our family seat, at the time you mention. The robbers proceeded singly, and kept on the grass skirting the road, so that no noise was made by their horses' feet.
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