Springing upon the box, he told the coachman to make the best of his way to Saint Giles's. “You cannot seriously believe,” he said, “that at the present moment I care a snap of the fingers whether I have any dinner or not. " "Leave you!" echoed the ruffian, with a contemptuous laugh; "—not just yet. I hate what I am. To these she added the wine and spirits directed, and when all was arranged looked inquisitively at her master. "Harkye, Sir," rejoined Darrell; "one word before I move. He pulled rein at the sight of her, saluted, and regarded her with his rather too protuberant eyes. They ought to put a lamp. Who was he?” “Intriguing. “Drive to 13, Montague Street, cabman,” she ordered. Mr. Spurlock lay with his head on his arms, asleep.
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