" "That is very kind of you," she acknowledged. "I know the hand—ha! my friend! and I have murdered him! And my sister was thus nobly, thus illustriously wedded. " "That I'll engage not to do. ” Brendon reappeared, followed by a tall thin man with a stubbly brown moustache and restless grey eyes. It became a sort of duel at last between them, and all the others sat and listened—every one, that is, except the Alderman, who had got the blond young man into a corner by the green-stained dresser with the aluminum things, and was sitting with his back to every one else, holding one hand over his mouth for greater privacy, and telling him, with an accent of confidential admission, in whispers of the chronic struggle between the natural modesty and general inoffensiveness of the Borough Council and the social evil in Marylebone. For a time he and Miss Klegg contradicted one another. She stood 218 there, broken bottle still in hand. So, let's think no more about it. —Strype's Stow.
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