It is the horse of the priest, you understand, and—and he does not know that I have borrowed it. You don’t wear a dinner coat with a flower in your button-hole, or last night’s shirt, or very glossy boots, nor do you haunt the drawing-room in the evening, or play at being musical. " "In whose favour is it made?" he inquired, sternly. As they passed beneath the thick trees that shade the road to Dollis Hill, the gloom was almost impenetrable. Wood's," said the latter, "since I find him at his own gate.
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