’
‘But tell,’ demanded Melusine impatiently. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one
alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. Only I just
want him. Skirting the noble
gardens of Montague House, (now, we need scarcely say, the British Museum,)
the party speedily reached Great Russell Street,—a quarter described by Strype,
in his edition of old Stow's famous Survey, "as being graced with the best
buildings in all Bloomsbury, and the best inhabited by the nobility and gentry,
especially the north side, as having gardens behind the houses, and the prospect
of the pleasant fields up to Hampstead and Highgate; insomuch that this place,
by physicians, is esteemed the most healthful of any in London. ‘Of course not,’ snapped his friend. “Mr. ‘Move, you. The action steadied him; and there was a phase of irony, too, that
helped. Marvel, in a tone intended to be
consolatory. Prudence twinkled at them, and
reached out to pat Melusine’s hand.
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