"The ban-dogs!" thundered a tall man, whose stature and former avocations had procured him the nickname of "The long drover of the Borough market. After all, his was a pleasant face, and a pleasant voice, and very likely Annabel had behaved badly. “Your name and address in his pocket was no delusion,” he said sharply. You remember that you saw us at the Savoy a few evenings ago?” “Yes. ‘What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at?’ ‘Let me alone, man,’ Gerald muttered under his breath. "That's it!" cried Wild when Trenchard concluded.
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