This niggardliness compelled him to cross and recross streets. ‘No more, Saling, no more,’ said Mrs Sindlesham in accents of exhaustion. The sun was setting, casting long dreary shadows across deformed apple trees. I walked London till the soles of my shoes were worn through, and my toes were blistered. Brendon,” he said, “may I rob you of your guest just for the drive home? I have only a few hours in England, and Miss Pellissier is an old friend. “Lord!” she said.
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