” There was never any shortage of bad men to eat, especially with pestilence and superstition to cover their tracks. " "No," cried the lady, "this room—I recollect—it has a back window. 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. It’s one of our conventional superstitions. Her mind wandered back to that fateful day.
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