Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. It would send business elsewhere; and the hotel business in Canton was never so prosperous that one could afford to lose a single guest. ‘I doubt it. “Lucy!” He whispered into her ear beneath a dusty curtain cloud. One cannot trust any man at all. Thunder rumbled behind the manicured hills.
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