“Can’t stop, thanks,” he answered. She read on and on, now thrilled by the swiftly moving drama, now enraptured by the tender passages of love. You must know, Sir, when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time,—that he did, the heathen. He's a cutie. The vast heap of rubbish on the floor had been so materially increased by the bricks and plaster thrown down in his attack upon the wall of the Red Room, that it was with some difficulty he could find the blanket which was almost buried beneath the pile. I don’t want a family in the suburbs and Christmases at the Florida house and summers at the Hamptons.
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