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He is steeped in the conventions. You don’t wear a dinner coat with a flower in your button-hole, or last night’s shirt, or very glossy boots, nor do you haunt the drawing-room in the evening, or play at being musical. ‘What the devil for?’ ‘Messenger,’ Gerald explained. Sheppard's habitation terminated a row of old ruinous buildings, called Wheeler's Rents; a dirty thoroughfare, part street, and part lane, running from Mint Street, through a variety of turnings, and along the brink of a deep kennel, skirted by a number of petty and neglected gardens in the direction of Saint George's Fields. ‘But I have the pistol,’ Gerald pointed out.
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This video was uploaded to freechristian.online on 06-06-2024 13:03:36
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