F. Giles's bowl, "as his last refreshment on earth. “Your brother has gone?” she asked Sydney, between the courses. The mob pursued the thief-taker and his party all the way, and such missiles as could be collected were hurled at them. “I am afraid—I really think that one of us ought to go with you,” he said. He was content to watch her accepting compliments and gaudy bouquets full of red roses, white carnations, and purple statice.
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