“I am sorry that I have murdered you. It is picturesquely situated beneath a tree on the high road, not far from the little hostel before mentioned, and at no great distance from the church. You are not with the Kent militia, are you?’ ‘West Kent, yes. ‘That’s right, you bone idle do-nothings. ‘She’s an eviltempered little termagant, yes, but there’s no malice aforethought. A jolly night we made of it, as you may suppose; for four such monarchs don't often come together. Listening at one of the doors leading to the Master Debtors' side, he heard a loud voice chanting a Bacchanalian melody, and the boisterous laughter that accompanied the song, convinced him that no suspicion was entertained in this quarter. "Here are some more papers, Captain. She went past three keenly observant and ostentatiously preoccupied waiters down the thickcarpeted staircase and out of the Hotel Rococo, that remarkable laboratory of relationships, past a tall porter in blue and crimson, into a cool, clear night. She was practicing with them on that very day, and displaced a rather mediocre boy violinist who claimed “to be better at the viola anyway” as first chair. She was marvellously pretty, but he was not quite sure—yet—that it was advisable for him to sit with her in so public a place. Not daring, however, to listen to it, he ran on.
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