” Lucy begged. The more haste, the worse speed—better the feet slip than the tongue. Upon the pavement near the court lay the porter, who had been prostrated by a blow from the butt-end of a pistol. “Never was such an age of transition. He measured out the portion of another peg, the bottle wavering in his hand. She guarded her mother, or at least she had liked to think so. Hastening to the spot where he had tied his horse to a tree, he vaulted into the saddle, and rode off across the fields,—for he was fearful of encountering the hostile party,—till he reached the Edgeware Road.
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