‘Though we might have done, if a certain addlepated clothhead hadn’t let her get away. What had happened to it? She had broken it, certainly. He screamed in pain, doubling over with a howl as she stumbled out of the bed. Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. His most eager inquiries and most lavish bribes could gain no further information than that she had left for England, and that her address was—London. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. “Is this hansom for me?” she said. He might have supposed the fellow would be eager to be rid of the tale, for that he might have longer to enjoy the amenities of the Triumphal Chariot where the meeting had been appointed. Satisfied with his scrutiny, he produced a pocket-flask, and taking off the silver cup with which it was mounted, filled it with the contents of the flask, and then seizing the thin arm of the sleeper, rudely shook it. If there were any pearls, none came into the light.
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