He won’t have menservants inside the house, and his collection of carriages is only fit for a museum—where most of his friends ought to be, by-the-bye. Gerald stayed him. Wood at Dollis Hill, was assaulted and half-killed by a party of ruffians, headed, he swore, by Mr. ‘Hilary, thank God! Have you a pistol about you? Or better yet, your sword.
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