She was tired, hungry—and thus somewhat impatient for the food Mrs Ibstock might bring—and downcast. Hilary could not have suggested such a thing. He had adroitly captured her and led her away from her other guests on the pretext of feigning an interest in her charitable attitude to the newly arrived French. “It isn’t only the dance,” she said. Glancing at the finger-post over the cage, which has been described as situated at the outskirts of the village, and seeing no directions to Dollis Hill, he made fresh inquiries as to where it lay, from an elderly man, who was standing with another countryman near the little prison.
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