” “Why did you tell me? I thought—I thought we were going to be friends. "I hope not. Surely he was imagining this picture. Kneebone, who had drained his glass to the restoration of the house of Stuart, and the downfall of the house of Hanover, more frequently than was consistent with prudence, consented; and the trio set out for Wych Street, where they arrived in the jolliest humour possible.
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