‘Not where we’re going. Giles's round-house," answered Terence; "but tell Mr. Annabel, tell me that you did not wish me dead. ” He went to the window and fidgeted with the blind, looking out to where the tree-tops of Regent’s Park showed distantly over the houses. You’re a piss-poor liar, John. Before he could draw in the rein, his steed—startled apparently by some object undistinguishable by the rider,—swerved with such suddenness as to unseat him, and precipitate him on the ground.
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