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“You cowards!” said Ann Veronica, “put her down!” and tore herself from a detaining hand and battered with her fists upon the big red ear and blue shoulder of the policeman who held the little old lady. ‘No more, Saling, no more,’ said Mrs Sindlesham in accents of exhaustion. “I refuse. Presently he felt motion. I don’t think we’re altogether to blame if we don’t take some of your lot seriously. While the cloth was laid, the host and Thames descended to the cellar, whence they returned, laden with a number of flasks of the same form, and apparently destined to the same use as those depicted in Hogarth's delectable print—the Modern Midnight Conversation. “No,” said Ann Veronica, “but I want to know. I wish she wouldn’t look like that at us over her glasses. I got myself locked up to cool off. Earles himself stood upon the threshold of his sanctum, the prototype of the smart natty Jew, with black hair, waxed moustache, and a wired flower in his button-hole. Anna was still holding her cigarette between her fingers. The flat was apparently empty.
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