The woollen-draper was no despicable trencherman in a general way; but his feats with the knife and fork were child's sport compared with those of Mr. “You had no right—” panted Ann Veronica. ’ She ended on a note of sheer frustration, clenched fists beating the air. A long chest under one of the windows was open, some of its contents dragged out and spilling onto the floor. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. When any violent outrage was committed,—and such matters were of daily, sometimes hourly, occurrence,—a bell, the rope of which descended into the hall, brought the whole of the turnkeys to their assistance.
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