The telegram dispatched, his obligation cancelled, Ah Cum proceeded homeward, chuckling occasionally. The galleries adjoining it were crowded with spectators,—so was the roof of a large tavern, then the only house standing at the end of the Edgeware Road,—so were the trees,—the walls of Hyde Park,—a neighbouring barn, a shed,—in short, every available position. “Thank you, ma’am. “Well, he’s really smart. ‘Precisely.
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