“It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself. “Yes, mostly. At this time of day the priest would be at his apartments in Brewer Street, a short walk away from Golden Square which the building overlooked. Hartford had a very respectable sound. It could not go on much longer, her luck. Solomon Smith, chapmen, (or what in modern vulgar parlance would be termed bagmen) travelling to procure orders for the house of an eminent cloth manufacturer in Manchester. ‘What the devil for? I’ll have one of the men ride the creature up tomorrow.
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