“I can’t imagine, Miss Pellissier,” Brendon said, leaning towards her, “whatever made you think of coming to stay if only for a week at a Montague Street boarding-house. Nigel Ennison, Annabel. "I told you that before," rejoined Wood, testily. "How go you like your quarters, sauce-box?" asked Sharples, in a jeering tone. I walked London till the soles of my shoes were worn through, and my toes were blistered.
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