Wet as he was, he felt if he lay down in the grass, he should perish with cold; while, if he sought a night's lodging in any asylum, his dress, stained with blood and covered with dirt, would infallibly cause him to be secured and delivered into the hands of justice. What had Brewis Charvill to say to that, Gerald?’ ‘He had nothing to say to it. His name is John. A grimy, battered object, which had no place in the fashionable quarter of town. ’ ‘What? But—’ ‘Precisely, Hilary.
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