Either ignorant of the accident, or heedless of it, the foremost horseman pursued his way without even turning his head. ” “One may do both,” said Ann Veronica. She had decided that she would begin with her pearl necklace. He often wanted only to drive with her in the car, both of them staring at the scenery in silence for hours. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg.
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