Book. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. "It's too late to carry 'em before a magistrate now, Sir Rowland; so, with your permission, I'll give 'em a night's lodging in Saint Giles's round-house. She hoped the lights would become hot enough to melt her into the floor. But her temper almost flared again when the sergeant spoke.
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