He drove her to the Beck house, pulling up behind Cathy's red Nissan. Glancing at the finger-post over the cage, which has been described as situated at the outskirts of the village, and seeing no directions to Dollis Hill, he made fresh inquiries as to where it lay, from an elderly man, who was standing with another countryman near the little prison. “You and Anna,” she said, “seem to have stumbled upon a mare’s nest. To-morrow, we'll go to the Fleet and get spliced.
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