\"Carry your books for you?\" He asked. ” “It is Number 8, Cavendish Square,” she answered simply. It rather astonished him. You’re not to go. The stoppage had materially lessened the distance between him and his pursuers, who now amounted to more than a hundred persons, many of whom carried lanterns and links. This time he couldn't get far. . ’ He had abandoned the “sir”, Gerald noted, realising that the footman’s respect for him had dropped sharply. The girl wished that she had come afoot, despite the knowledge that she would have suffered many inconveniences, accidental and intentional jostling, insolence and ribald jest. You must forgive the poet’s license I take.
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