" The Wastrel laughed. Hastening to the spot where he had tied his horse to a tree, he vaulted into the saddle, and rode off across the fields,—for he was fearful of encountering the hostile party,—till he reached the Edgeware Road. By the middle of July he was in full health. He was wrapped in a laced roquelaure, which he threw off on his entrance into the room.
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