Her eyes were lit with a gleam of humour. Yet the smoke was curling upwards in a faint innocent-looking cloud to the ceiling. ‘The place was full of barbers and military men. Taking his way along East Smithfield, mounting Little Tower-hill, and threading the Minories and Hounsditch, he arrived without accident or molestation, at Moorfields. My late husband, I mean. Meanwhile, she was spirited away from John and bombarded by half-familiar people who attempted to chat with her above the roar of the crowd.
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