A hansom stopped a little way off. “And now,” she said, splintering the surviving piece of coal into indignant flame-spurting fragments with one dexterous blow, “what am I to do? “I’m in a hole!—mess is a better word, expresses it better. He thought of her and himself, and no longer in that vein of incidental adventure in which he had begun. Not I. It generalized everything she put to it.
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