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A post-chaise seen in the road first alarmed us. CHAPTER XXVI. I waited for her at the back. As though it was indelicate—it’s just a sort of shyness. To be sure, he was attentive, respectful; but in his conduct there was none of that shameless camaraderie of a man who loved his woman and didn't care a hang if all the world knew it. Entering London, he bent his way towards the west-end; and having some knowledge of a secondhand tailor's shop in Rupert Street, proceeded thither, and looked out a handsome suit of mourning, with a sword, cloak, and hat, and demanded the price. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. If I had been quite quiet and white and dignified, wouldn’t it have been different? Would he have dared?. It isn't as if he were stricken with typhoid or pneumonia or something like that. But he has since acquitted you of any share in it.
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