And his scarlet coat had nothing to do with it, as Hilary was fond of recounting, for he had been in civilian clothes when they met, as he was tonight. "What did you do?" he asked, in a broken voice. You'll have it down. The ruse succeeded almost beyond his expectation. Having disposed of his steed and swallowed a glass of brandy, without taking any other refreshment, he threw himself on a couch, where he sank at once into a heavy slumber. Cheveney was looking after her, I think, then. Wood's. Denis. Until then we mean to keep on hammering away.
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