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Updated: May 3, 2025
Her business instincts were by this time fully aroused. She felt certain that whoever this stranger might he, he had nothing to do with the affair in Praed Street, and yet might be able to throw extraordinary light on it, and she wanted to take a great step towards clearing it up. She turned to the American. "Look here!" she said. "I've told you what I'm after, and who I am. This gentleman is Mr.
I know David doesn't want to walk all the way back to the Temple in those lovely button boots." Praed told him all he wanted to know about the localities of the Warren Private Hotels; most of all, that at which Vivie's mother resided in the Rue Royale, Brussels. Varennes. This card was closely scanned by a heavy-featured Flemish girl who took it upstairs to an appartement on the first floor.
Consequently he was able to deliver Vivie's communication to the American Consul-General with some probability of its being sent on. It contained no further appeal to American intervention than this: that the Consul-General would try to convey to England the news of her mother's death to such-and-such solicitors, and to Lewis Maitland Praed A.R.A. in Hans Place.
Skirting the neighbourhood of squares and gardens and large houses, she soon reached Praed Street, and then the Harrow Road, along which she hurriedly walked; and when it began to grow light and the shopkeepers were taking down their shutters, she had crossed the Regent's Canal, and found herself in a brick-and-mortar wilderness entirely unknown to her.
"And I wish my plan for getting you acquainted with aunt had come off the other night. It would have made it all seem more legal, somehow." "We'll manage it," he promised. "Meanwhile, and always, don't forget that you are my dear sweetheart." Miss Radford called at Praed Street, inquiring anxiously; and Mrs. Mills, summoning invention to her aid, said Gertie was not in. Mrs.
So she does, between five and half-past six, almost without interruption from the spell-bound Frank who says it licks any novel he ever read, and she ought to turn it into a novel with a happy ending or from Praed who is at times a little somnolent.
Praed, it has always seemed to us, was the cleverest writer in his way that has ever contributed to the English periodicals.
Meanwhile, on that same Thursday afternoon, Arthur Berkeley had gone up from Oxford by the fast train to Paddington, as was his weekly wont, and had dived quickly down one of the small lanes that open out from the left-hand side of Praed Street.
Praed made twenty-two speeches against the bill, Sugden eighteen, Pelham twenty-eight, Peel forty-eight, Croker fifty-seven, and Wetherell fifty-eight. Of course the greater part of these speeches were inexpressibly wearisome, and ministers were condemned to sit and listen to the stale arguments, which were all that the opposition could make.
He had changed his name to Multenius, and was trading in Praed Street as a jeweller and pawnbroker. Now, I had no objection to carrying on a trade with certain business connections of mine at the Cape and after some conversation with Multenius he and I arranged to buy and sell diamonds together here in London, and I at once paid over a sum of money to him as working capital.
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