‘How in God’s name did the wretched fellow get in then?’ ‘Dug a tunnel?’ suggested Gerald, halting next to a pair of French windows at the front. ‘Do not beg his pardon,’ intervened Melusine quickly, coming between them. The houses on Snow Hill were thronged, like those in Old Bailey. It seemed to them they could never have been really alive before, but only dimly anticipating existence.
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