But out of a belated regard for her father she wrote the surname of some one else. “Now you must go,” she said firmly. She was alone, and the mask of her unchanging high spirits was for the moment laid aside. The train, meantime, had passed Marylebone Lane, when it again paused for a moment, at Jack's request, near the door of a public-house called the City of Oxford. I don’t play anything.
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