But he had shown no desire for information, no curiosity. He was a Wiltshire Edmondshaw, a very old family. Turning off again on the left, down Seacoal Lane, they arrived at the mouth of a dark, narrow alley, into which they plunged; and, at the farther extremity found a small yard, overlooked by the blank walls of a large gloomy habitation. “You would believe that life is kindled by the passions alone. You can enjoy him and then drink him up. He carries with him something that will mark him anywhere—the girl.
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