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I'm pretty well, said Poll. 'Are you living at this end of the town, or were you coming to see me? Was that the bis'ness that brought you to Holborn? 'I haven't got no bis'ness in Holborn, returned Bailey, with some displeasure. 'All my bis'ness lays at the West End. I've got the right sort of governor now.
Try as I would I couldna find ma way down Holborn to the Strand. I was glad tae see a big policeman looming up in the mist. "Here, ma chiel," I asked him, "can ye not put me in the road for the Strand?" He looked at me, and then began to laugh. I was surprised. "Has onything come ower you?" I asked him. I could no see it was a laughing matter that I should be lost in a London fog.
Sponge could learn, to carry out the design. Indeed, the subject of hunting was never once mentioned, the conversation after dinner, instead of being about the Quorn, or the Pytchley, or Jack Thompson with the Atherstone, turning upon the elegance and lighting of the Casinos in the Adelaide Gallery and Windmill Street, and the relative merits of those establishments over the Casino de Venise in High Holborn.
But they were only just round the corner that hid them from my view; stray words still reached me; and they knew me by sight, would recognise me at a glance, might pounce upon me as I passed. Unless I had it! The crowd in Holborn seemed strange and unreal as I jostled in its midst once more.
I walked towards one of the quietest of the large squares on the north of Holborn, then suddenly stopped and turned round at a place where a long stretch of pavement was left behind me. There were two men at the corner of the square who had stopped also, and who were standing talking together. After a moment's reflection I turned back so as to pass them.
The languid stillness of the garden after the noise and stir of the streets tempted me to stay longer than I had intended, and when I resumed my journey I thought the rest must have done me good, but before I reached the Holborn Viaduct fatigue was beginning to gain on me.
And in the corner what do you think there is? There is an actual GUILLOTINE. If you doubt me, go and see Gale, High Holborn, No. 47. It is a slim instrument, much slighter than those which they make now; some nine feet high, narrow, a pretty piece of upholstery enough. As Pinto looked at it Mr.
He picked it up now, and carelessly glanced at its front page as he was about to lay it aside. The next moment he was eagerly reading a prominent advertisement: "Lost in a Holborn to Chapel Street Omnibus, about 4 o'clock yesterday afternoon, a Spanish manuscript, bound in old crimson morocco.
I was now in Holborn, and passed by a public house filled with uproarious companions, whose songs, laughter, and shouts were more sorrowful than the pale looks and silence of the mourner. Such an one was near, hovering round this house.
And this for the simple reason that the aristocrats are not more witty than the poor, but a very great deal less so. A man does not hear, as in the smart novels, these gems of verbal felicity dropped between diplomatists at dinner. Where he really does hear them is between two omnibus conductors in a block in Holborn. The witty peer whose impromptus fill the books of Mrs.
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