Here is Oxford
Street--Haymarket. See, there is the Opera House--Hair Majesty's Theatre.
See all the carriages waiting;' and so on, till we reached at length a
little narrow street, which she told me was off Piccadilly, where we drew
up before a private house, as it seemed to me--a family hotel--and I was
glad to be at rest for the night.
Fatigued with the peculiar fatigue of railway travelling, dusty, a little
chilly, with eyes aching and wearied, I ascended the stairs silently, our
garrulous and bustling landlady leading the way, and telling her oft-told
story of the house, its noble owner in old time, and how those fine
drawing-rooms were taken every year during the Session by the Bishop of
Rochet-on-Copeley, and at last into our double-bedded room.
I would fain have been alone, but I was too tired and dejected to care very
much for anything.
At tea, Madame expanded in spirit, like a giant refreshed, and chattered
and sang; and at last, seeing that I was nodding, advised my going to bed,
while she ran across the street to see 'her dear old friend, Mademoiselle
St. Eloi, who was sure to be up, and would be offended if she failed to
make her ever so short a call.
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