"Come down stairs directly, and let your mother look at your wrist. What matters it? My servant, he is wounded—and by a Frenchman, if you wish to make an arrest. The barmaids had too strongly appealed to his sense of novelty. I am quite sure that I do not know you. Mike knocked on the door. It became a sort of duel at last between them, and all the others sat and listened—every one, that is, except the Alderman, who had got the blond young man into a corner by the green-stained dresser with the aluminum things, and was sitting with his back to every one else, holding one hand over his mouth for greater privacy, and telling him, with an accent of confidential admission, in whispers of the chronic struggle between the natural modesty and general inoffensiveness of the Borough Council and the social evil in Marylebone.
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