123 It didn’t take long. The man Hill has persecuted me for months—ever since I have been in England. “I beg your pardon,” he said, “but you appear to be a fellow countrywoman of mine, and in some distress. When he comes he will do that raid of the pantechnicons the justice it deserves; he will picture the orderly evening scene about the Imperial Legislature in convincing detail, the coming and going of cabs and motor-cabs and broughams through the chill, damp evening into New Palace Yard, the reinforced but untroubled and unsuspecting police about the entries of those great buildings whose square and panelled Victorian Gothic streams up from the glare of the lamps into the murkiness of the night; Big Ben shining overhead, an unassailable beacon, and the incidental traffic of Westminster, cabs, carts, and glowing omnibuses going to and from the bridge. "Your hesitation convinces me he does," replied the widow. "Stop thief!" roared Jonathan, who perceived the fugitive hurrying along a street towards Hatton Garden. Balanced on his nose were enormous tortoise-shell spectacles. Anna merely glanced at the coarse, flushed features, and at once shook her head. It never is. “You were married to him!” “It could not be legal,” Annabel moaned. The church was crowded to excess by the numbers eager to witness the ceremony; and as soon as it was over the wedded pair were followed to the carriage, and the loudest benedictions uttered for their happiness.
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