There were mysterious rustlings that made him glance hopefully toward the sea. "Vell, vell," growled Sharples, after he had listened to the other's remonstrances, "it shall be done. A wave of pity went over him—pity for the patient, the girl, and his friend. They travelled past the few idle sightseers who had braved the uninviting evening to see what the Suffragettes might be doing; they pulled up unchallenged within thirty yards of those coveted portals.
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