You did not complain then that I personated you—no, nor when Sir John came to me in Paris, and for your sake I lied. Alarmed by these prognostications of a storm, and feeling too much exhausted from his late severe treatment to proceed further on foot, Wood endeavoured to find a tavern where he might warm and otherwise refresh himself. White’s boarding-house in Russell Square. I don’t think you understand. "What did you do?" he asked, in a broken voice.
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