Another horn now resounded from the further extremity of the thoroughfare; this was answered by a third; and presently a fourth, and more remote blast, took up the note of alarm. “Isn’t that rather a strange question—under the circumstances?” he asked quietly. It's gin—a liquor you used to like. “Certainly her voice is far more musical. If we were to wait till a prig was rightfully nabbed, we might tarry till doomsday. “Great!” Cathy squealed. She turned and looked at the red LED of the alarm clock that read 3:55. “Where to?” he asked, as the hansom drove up. No one. Then she sang.
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