” He made a grand gesture towards the car, his smile broadening. "I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in Guildhall. What he needed was not a food but a flavour; and the cocoanut taste of the chestnuts soothed his burning tongue and throat. “Okay, I guess. I'm used to insult as I am to misfortune, and am grown callous to both; but I'm not used to compassion, and know not how to take it.
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