“Well, I do. For a while they stood there, silent, motionless, staring at the doorway where still a few strings of the bamboo curtain swayed and twisted, agitated by the Wastrel's passage. The door closed upon her, and he moved reluctantly away. The chair, meanwhile, with its unhappy load, was transported at a brisk pace to Newgate. “Forgive me,” he said. Traversing what remained of Wych Street at a rapid pace, and speeding along Drury Lane, the trio soon found themselves in Kendrick Yard.
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