“I suppose, Vee, you don’t see much of those Widgetts now?” “I go in and talk to Constance sometimes. This "fatal retreat for the unfortunate brave" was marked by a low wooden railing, within which stood the triple tree. She put back her hood in a determined way. “I don’t see what he has to do with my coming to London?” “He—he worships the ground you tread on. I do not wish to seek them out, en effet. ‘But that is easy. I am very, very sorry, but you must listen to me. 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. Here your nephew will speedily be thrown. He well knows that but two lives—those of Thames Darrell and Sir Rowland Trenchard,—stand between you and the vast possessions of the family.
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