Long ago. Hilary Roding was all soldier now, his earlier grievances laid aside. This was to pass under the arch, along the narrow ledge of the starling, and, if possible, attain the eastern platform, where, protected by the bridge, he would suffer less from the excessive violence of the gale. From the window he saw The Tigress faring toward Copeley's! Then somebody was coming? Some political high muckamuck, probably. ‘If you care for me at all, shoot me. Then to the Feathers, in Drury Lane. Then suddenly the curtain would fall.
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