We leave England to-night. Finger to his lips, Gerald pointed in the direction of the noise. Her eyes flashed. Gay, the poet, who wrote the 'Captives,' which was lately acted at Drury Lane, and was so much admired by the Princess of Wales. The stranger concluded he could not be far from his destination, and a turn in the road showed him the house. The general did what he might to hush it up, and paid handsomely to manage it, I daresay.
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