He had found her by the same agency her father had: native talk, which flew from isle to isle as fast as proas could carry it. She was shifting, moving back. He was a business man, pure and simple, his eyes were fastened always upon the practical side of life. "What is this!" cried Sir Rowland. As they careened into a parking space, Lucy clung to the upholstery so as not to be thrown against the front seats. Arrived there, their first object was to seek out Davies, by whom they were conducted to the lady's retreat,—a lone habitation, situated on the outskirts of Saint George's Fields in Southwark.
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