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. He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling. Wood will be here presently. For all that, it is folly. “You’re a student, perhaps?” said the tall woman. " "That is a far more agreeable one, I must confess," returned Kneebone, with a self-sufficient smirk. She reflected upon that with a thrill of terror that was also, somehow, in some faint remote way, gleeful. “His stipend forbade it,” she said, and seemed to fall into a train of thought.
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