"Why, how the devil did you happen to guess that?" cried the janizary. Aware of the footman hovering, and the hackney coachman’s curious eyes looking down from his box, Gerald leaned a little towards her and spoke in a lowered tone. The fibre of his soul had to be tested, queerly, to make him worthy of you. “He spends hours of every day on the pavement below,” Anna answered calmly.
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