Making her couch upon a heap of hay, she sank at once into a deep and refreshing slumber. “You must tell me the truth, and I will see that no harm comes to you. 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. It’s Italian.
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