His face clouded with anger. One small wing lay at the north of the gate, where Giltspur Street Compter now stands; and the Press Yard, which was detached from the main building, was situated at the back of Phoenix Court. An ancient smile lay on his lips. “There,” he said, “you don’t treat me fairly, Miss Stanley. This discovery made, I hastened back to London to offer you my hand, but found you had married in the mean time a smock-faced, smooth-tongued carpenter named Sheppard.
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