Kneebone's door, you begged me to await your return here, assuring me you would not detain me five minutes. Crack went the whip, and away floundered the heavy vehicle through the deep ruts of the ill-kept road, or rather lane, (for it was little better,) which, then, led across Southampton Fields. Wood in the deepest mourning. “Quite unusually cold for the time of year,” he said.
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