The train, meantime, had passed Marylebone Lane, when it again paused for a moment, at Jack's request, near the door of a public-house called the City of Oxford. Her head dangled unnaturally for an instant, unleashed from its moorings, then sank to join her husband’s on the floor. Earles remarked genially. The comparisons upon which she could draw were few and confusingly new, mixed with reality and the loose artistic conceptions of heroes in fiction. But he dismissed that because then she would ask her lover and not him all these things. I am certainly no ghost.
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