4. “This is my way back to my side of the Park,” she said. “Dear me! I wonder where Sir John picked her up. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. The arrested women were herded in a passage of the Panton Street Police-station that opened upon a cell too unclean for occupation, and most of them spent the night standing. She watched the captain tuck the pistol back in his pocket, and perch on the edge of the big desk. She sat on the edge of the bed overwhelmed, the roses cradled in her arms.
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