He was about to cut the sergeant short, when his eye fell on a gentleman walking along Piccadilly, his manner uncertain, his eyes shifting as if he sought something out. The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent. It was really very nice of you, but to-morrow you will laugh at it as I do now. There it was—to be borrowed. The devastations, however, were speedily made good, and, in two years more, it was finished.
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