She screamed involuntarily—she had never in her life screamed before—and then she began to wriggle and fight like a frightened animal against the men who were holding her. The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance. Charcoal. She answered in whispers, for there was the white arm of a woman in the next box peeping beyond the partition within a yard of him. It’s Providence.
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