’ And with that he went off to the City, stern and silent, leaving his bacon on his plate—a great slice of bacon hardly touched. Having disposed of his steed and swallowed a glass of brandy, without taking any other refreshment, he threw himself on a couch, where he sank at once into a heavy slumber. “I feel justified then,” he said, “in annexing his chair. He's now in spring-ankle warehouse with Sir Rowland Trenchard.
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