Ennison?” Sir John hesitated. One side of the face was white with foamy lather and the other ruddy-cheeked and blue-jawed. She wanted to live. The crowner's 'quest sat on her yesterday—and if she hadn't been proved out of her mind, she would have been buried at four lane-ends. “Why not? It might amuse me. The galleries adjoining it were crowded with spectators,—so was the roof of a large tavern, then the only house standing at the end of the Edgeware Road,—so were the trees,—the walls of Hyde Park,—a neighbouring barn, a shed,—in short, every available position.
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