Wary they might be. The women, Ann Veronica thought, were not quite so interesting as the men. “I am going through the other rooms. I would sooner see you in a ’bus again. McClintock, striking a match to relight his cigar, broke the spell. I don’t think for a moment that he would recognize you. ‘Good, good—and not before time,’ muttered Roding, glancing round again. To that, perhaps, a large part of its satisfyingness was due. “Drive to 13, Montague Street, cabman,” she ordered. “I didn’t blow up the house. Martin's on Ludgate-hill, and Christchurch in Newgate Street, were also distinguishable.
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