He hung vaguely for a moment as she passed. She was silent. It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip. She did not have the power of men. She had fallen asleep on the wooden bed, uncaring of lice or bedbugs. The train, meantime, had passed Marylebone Lane, when it again paused for a moment, at Jack's request, near the door of a public-house called the City of Oxford.
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