‘I never met a rat what wandered about the place with a lantern, I didn’t,’ grumbled the old lodgekeeper aggrievedly. ‘I recall my father speaking of you as a Remenham. Jonathan mixed with the group, and, sure of his prey, abided his time. “Sit down,” he said, and perused—“perused” is the word for it—for some moments. He left the room, presumably to sleep elsewhere, but the only other room with a fire was the servant’s quarters. “You have changed somehow—and you certainly are less friendly. A traffic of copious barges slumbered over the face of the river-barges either altogether stagnant or dreaming along in the wake of fussy tugs; and above circled, urbanely voracious, the London seagulls. He turned. .
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