Then most horribly she was clasped about the waist from behind and lifted from the ground. "What the devil makes you out so late? And what has happened to you, man, eh?—you seem in a queer plight. He knew very well that his muscles were flabby, and his nerve by no means what it should be. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. She was to have fifteen pounds, and no more. But, finding the cellar-door open, concluded he had got out that way.
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