"Well, Jack," said the prize-fighter, in a rough, but friendly voice, and with a cutand-thrust abrupt manner peculiar to himself; "how are you, lad, eh? Sorry to see you here. He thrust out a rhetorical hand. It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it. ” “Of course you don’t,” said Miss Miniver, gesticulating triumphantly with her thin hand and thinner wrist, and patting Ann Veronica’s knee. Suddenly she became aware of the fact that he had brought no lunch.
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