"Altogether unsuccessful, Sir," said the chief turnkey, with a look of disappointment, not unmixed with apprehension, as he approached Wild. His gaze drawn, Gerald watched him dip to pick up a crushed square of white linen and a starched object that resembled a helmet. “Here we are, living in the same suburb,” he began. Edward Bribble stood between them with an open book. A sob was strangled in her throat. Yes, yes, there is no doubt about it. “I shouldn’t have waited,” she said. This morning his entourage (as he jestingly called it) consisted of the girl, two spinsters (Prudence and Angelina Jedson), prim and doubtful of the world, and the young man who appeared to be considerably the worse for the alcohol he had consumed.
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