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Why he arst me fer my bloomin' name, same as if I wus a Countess a steepin' art of a moter-kar at the door of Buckingem Peliss. 'What's yer name, girl? says 'e. 'Sarah Geddes, an it please yer capting, says I. 'Then send the bally flowers to Sarah Geddes, says 'e, 'and take precious good care as she gets 'em. Gawd's truth, yer could 'ave knocked me darn with a 'at pin.
Feeling in the depth of her shawl she produced a capacious flask and a bundle of cigars. "'Ere, boys," she said, "let's talk 'am and heggs. 'Ere's a drop of the best and five bob's worth of chimney afire, stun me mother if there ain't. I'm sick of talkin' and so's 'the Panerawma. Light up yer sherbooks and think as you're in Buckingem Peliss. There ain't no 'arm thinkin' anyways."
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