But a middle-aged man like Ramage ought to know better than to draw out a girl, the daughter of a friend and neighbor. Skirting the noble gardens of Montague House, (now, we need scarcely say, the British Museum,) the party speedily reached Great Russell Street,—a quarter described by Strype, in his edition of old Stow's famous Survey, "as being graced with the best buildings in all Bloomsbury, and the best inhabited by the nobility and gentry, especially the north side, as having gardens behind the houses, and the prospect of the pleasant fields up to Hampstead and Highgate; insomuch that this place, by physicians, is esteemed the most healthful of any in London. The baby crawled towards them, seeking their blood. “She’s sensitive soul, far too sensitive to be married to an ass like Gianfrancesco. You are going to be generous and forgive. ‘And, if this was not enough,’ went on the lady furiously, ‘you dare to say I am French. Stanley. Darkness closed in on them as the officers stepped inside the musty interior. “Home, of course,” she answered. She found herself talking to Capes in an undertone of rational admission.
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