The great untrodden world was before her still, into which no one can pass alone. ‘Dieu du ciel, is this a way to have me say yes? If it is that you do not wish to, why do you ask me?’ ‘Ah. "My chickens are hatched, or, at least, nearly so," replied Shotbolt, with increased merriment. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street.
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