" The clock tinkled ten. Awful shapes seemed to flit by, borne on the wings of the tempest, animating and directing its fury. The latter seemed inclined to advance and address the former; but suddenly changing his mind, he shouted to his companion in tones familiar to the stranger's ear; and, striking spurs into his steed, dashed off at full speed along the Edgeware Road. ‘I—I mean, she were—’ ‘Pretty as a picture?’ suggested Gerald. "But, if I should not return, take this purse to Edgeworth Bess.
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