’ ‘Yes,’ she agreed, but her manner was a degree less warm. There was a certain air of forced fortuity in his manner. "Here, wife—hostess—fetch me that bottle from the second shelf in the corner cupboard. Master Thames Ditton, I'll do your biddin'; and you, Misther Quilt Arnold, may do your worst, I defy you. Let me keep him. He tried again. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly.
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