"It's too late to carry 'em before a magistrate now, Sir Rowland; so, with your permission, I'll give 'em a night's lodging in Saint Giles's round-house. “I think this ends the business,” he said, turning to his sister. Anna went out. In Old Palace Yard everybody ran. Wood sank, submissively, into a chair, while his daughter hastened to execute her arbitrary parent's commission. She had a vision of policemen, reproving magistrates, a crowded court, public disgrace.
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