In olden days it boasted a chapel, dedicated to Saint Thomas; beneath which there was a crypt curiously constructed amid the arches, where "was sepultured Peter the Chaplain of Colechurch, who began the Stone Bridge at London:" and it still boasted an edifice (though now in rather a tumbledown condition) which had once vied with a palace,—we mean Nonesuch House. Gerald guessed she was biting her tongue on an explosive retort as she eyed him. He felt like a boy again, the taste for adventures was keen upon his palate, the whole undiscovered world of rhythmical things, of love and poetry and passion seemed again to him a real and actual place, and he himself an adventurer upon the threshold. "Who isn't it like?" he asked, endeavouring to gain possession of the drawing, which, af the sound of his footstep, she crushed between her fingers. Spurling bit her lips to conceal her mirth. Diane did not hear the footsteps on her brick patio or the audible click of the back door lock being compromised. "Raise your vice, and lave off coughin'," added Terence.
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