This was his humiliation as well as hers. ‘By traitors I am surrounded!’ ‘Stop talking utter twaddle,’ ordered Roding, marching up to the desk. "So, stir your stumps, Saint Giles; and, if you mean to lock us up, use despatch. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. Wild allowed you to have your fine clothes again, or you might have been taken in a still more disgraceful garb.
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