He had been back for two weeks during some pleasant weather in July. ‘But on the off chance—slim, I grant you —that there is a spy down there, I don’t want to miss the fun. Giles's church, the bell of which continued tolling all the time, passed the pound, and entered Oxford Road, or, as it was then not unfrequently termed, Tyburn Road. There were sidetables and a writing table, similarly buried in bric-a-brac, and the chair by the French doors could hardly be seen for blankets. ’ Roding gave him a look of respect.
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