And how could I come home—when he locks me in rooms and all that?” “I do wish this wasn’t going on,” said Miss Stanley, after a pause. The arrangement had been made by the town matchmaker, a frightening old oak of a man. She had dreaded the beginning of this hour. Springing upon the box, he told the coachman to make the best of his way to Saint Giles's. The houses they flitted to and from were glutted with hangers-on, servant/mistresses, and errant prostitutes.
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