Spurling, who had been hastily compounding another bowl of punch. “And of course you are my niece just as Annabel is, although I am sorry to learn that your conduct has been much less discreet than hers. The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance. Spurlock's vision was oddly of the past. ‘See that writing table? Go and look in the drawer there. But the besetting evil of the place, and that which drew down the severest censures of the writers above-mentioned, was that this spot,—which of all others should have been most free from such intrusion—was made a public exhibition. ‘Mad as hatters!’ ‘It is you who is mad,’ mademoiselle told him crossly.
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