‘At last,’ he cried, ‘I have found you!’ He would listen to nothing. The cage at Willesden was, and is—for it is still standing—a small round building about eight feet high, with a pointed tiled roof, to which a number of boards, inscribed with the names of the parish officers, and charged with a multitude of admonitory notices to vagrants and other disorderly persons, are attached. ‘Never trust a gun in female hands,’ grumbled Hilary, dropping the nun’s habit and backing to join his friend. En tout cas, why had he not returned? She pondered the question as, later, she paced about her favourite retreat.
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