Mrs. You see, I’m separated from my wife. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. Kneebone's door, you begged me to await your return here, assuring me you would not detain me five minutes. It was as if Grace-church Street, with all its shops, its magazines, and ceaseless throng of passengers, were stretched from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore.
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