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Giles's was lined with spectators. And yet, on the very site of the sordid tenements and squalid courts we have mentioned, where the felon openly made his dwelling, and the fraudulent debtor laughed the object of his knavery to scorn—on this spot, not two centuries ago, stood the princely residence of Charles Brandon, the chivalrous Duke of Suffolk, whose stout heart was a well of honour, and whose memory breathes of loyalty and valour. Chapter XX ANNA’S SURRENDER “This is indeed a gala night,” said Ennison, raising his glass, and watching for a moment the golden bubbles. “Why don’t you wear your white blouse more often? It is the prettiest shirt you own. Greece was a different place. You don’t know. ‘You are dead, you,’ he yelled back, leaping into the seat of the final pew.
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