I thought Mr. Only an undermaid I was then. As usual Brendon lit the candles, and Sydney dragged out the spiritlamp and set it going. From this spot a road, more resembling the drive through a park than a public thoroughfare, led him gradually to the brow of Dollis Hill. ‘C’est ridicule. Gay, the poet, who wrote the 'Captives,' which was lately acted at Drury Lane, and was so much admired by the Princess of Wales. At that, the girl jumped up. John picked it up and put it in her hands.
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