White said. “Tiffany’s?” He looked at her comically. “And aren’t there fees to pay at the Imperial College?” her aunt was saying—a disagreeable question. “Eight, Cavendish Square. Why else?’ Gerald stared at her blankly. "Saved!" "Ay, ay, it's all bob, my covey! You're safe enough, that's certain!" responded the Minters, baying, yelping, leaping, and howling around him like a pack of hounds when the huntsman is beating cover; "but, where are the lurchers?" "Who?" asked Wood. ‘And I do not know why you are so polite, when you have been bad to me last night, and have taken my dagger. Taber? There is a possibility. —Strype's Stow.
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