“You are quite right, I think. But the rise of the chest was quite perceptible now. ‘Sergeant Trodger is who I am. There was a pint of champagne and a quart of mineral water (both taboo) at his elbow. On that night,—that fatal night,—Winifred crushed all the hopes that were rising in my heart. She drifted, via Theobald’s Road, obliquely toward the region about Titchfield Street. Someone ought to be with him until the doctor arrives.
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