Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. At this time of day the priest would be at his apartments in Brewer Street, a short walk away from Golden Square which the building overlooked. "Suppose we go and have tea? I'd like to take you to a teahouse I know, but we'll go to the Victoria instead. Still, something had marked the face, something had left an indelible touch.
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