" "God help me, what a muddle!" The cigar crumbled in Spurlock's hand. Following her lead, he fortified himself with a swallow of the excellent Madeira before responding. '—'Pretty well,' says I; 'you're not badly off at the Friars, for that matter. My birthday was on May first. If you ride past the church, and mount the hill, you'll come to Neasdon and then you'll not have above half a mile to go. " Sir Rowland caught at a chair for support, and passed his hand across his brow, on which the damp had gathered thickly.
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