His gaze remained steady on the old dame’s face, as he thought about it. Racing, he reached it perhaps a moment or two later. The infant’s body, now missing its pulverized head, was still twitching among the blood-soaked ruins of corpses. “I will go,” he said. “Tell him to drive—anywhere,” she exclaimed. And at last Ann Veronica and Miss Miniver came down the dark staircase and out into the foggy spaces of the London squares, and crossed Russell Square, Woburn Square, Gordon Square, making an oblique route to Ann Veronica’s lodging. The lighting-up pierced the obscurity of the box, and Ramage stopped his urgent flow of words abruptly and sat back. Accordingly, he stopped the coach, dismounted, and hastened towards the assemblage, which, he was glad to find, consisted chiefly of a posse of watchmen and other guardians of the night. Guns were impossible.
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