The houses on Snow Hill were thronged, like those in Old Bailey. “Not home yet, miss,” the young man replied. He opened the drawer of the writing table. My nerves are shaken. If all wives were of my mind and my spirit, husbands would soon be taught their own insignificance. Arrived at Paddington, he struck across Marylebone Fields,—for as yet the New Road was undreamed of,—and never moderated his speed until he reached the city.
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