Lucy stared out to the busy streets beyond. He was scarcely concealed when he heard the horsemen, who perceived they had overshot their mark, ride back. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. I'll tell you what. Ed. But we’ve got the brains to get over that, and tongues in our heads to talk to each other. It had evidently seen better days before being relegated to the ministrations of a hackney coachman, one who evidently served the less affluent inhabitants of London. One always dreamed of this and never believed it. The manservant shall bring your trunks in and pay the fare too, if you like. .
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