The more haste, the worse speed—better the feet slip than the tongue. Skirting the noble gardens of Montague House, (now, we need scarcely say, the British Museum,) the party speedily reached Great Russell Street,—a quarter described by Strype, in his edition of old Stow's famous Survey, "as being graced with the best buildings in all Bloomsbury, and the best inhabited by the nobility and gentry, especially the north side, as having gardens behind the houses, and the prospect of the pleasant fields up to Hampstead and Highgate; insomuch that this place, by physicians, is esteemed the most healthful of any in London. Since morning he had become fanatical; the atoms of common sense no longer functioned in the accustomed groove. Joan told me it was hung somewhere in the house, only I couldn’t remember where after all this time. “Why can’t we propagate by sexless spores, as the ferns do? We restrict each other, we badger each other, friendship is poisoned and buried under it!. There was no one at home, and I was coming away when I saw that the door was open. One woman hit the ground running, Sebastian ran after her.
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