The galleries adjoining it were crowded with spectators,—so was the roof of a large tavern, then the only house standing at the end of the Edgeware Road,—so were the trees,—the walls of Hyde Park,—a neighbouring barn, a shed,—in short, every available position. She glanced at the Frenchman, and found him struggling with the portrait that was embedded around his scalp. Her mind turned and accused itself of having been cold and hard.
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