‘Alors, pig!’ she cried and lunged in quarte. But all that could be ascertained in the village was, that a man had ridden off a short time before in the direction of London. The cage at Willesden was, and is—for it is still standing—a small round building about eight feet high, with a pointed tiled roof, to which a number of boards, inscribed with the names of the parish officers, and charged with a multitude of admonitory notices to vagrants and other disorderly persons, are attached. But she did not listen long; she wanted to talk.
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