A distant suggestion of chalets and a glimpse of the road set them talking for a time of the world they had left behind. Ruth stared into the painted face, now sundrily cracked by the coursing tears. The galleries adjoining it were crowded with spectators,—so was the roof of a large tavern, then the only house standing at the end of the Edgeware Road,—so were the trees,—the walls of Hyde Park,—a neighbouring barn, a shed,—in short, every available position.
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