’ ‘That’s just it,’ said Joan Ibstock shamefacedly. ‘It does not matter, Jacques. "Oh, Heavens!" cried Mrs. " "Wood!" exclaimed Trenchard,—"of Wych Street?" "The same. She had found him! Excitement welled. McClintock, without comment, accepted the hand. The aspect of the place, so far as he could discern through the gloom, was strange to him; but chancing to raise his eyes above the level of the surrounding habitations, he beheld, relieved against the sombre sky, the tall steeple of Saint Giles's church, the precursor of the present structure, which was not erected till some fifteen years later. They almost made me feel like they were mine.
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