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And what'sh the result? My bhoy, the result is sentiment, a yellow thing with blue spots, like a fungus or a Stilton cheese. Go to the theatre, and see one of these things they call plays. Tell me, are they food for men and women? Why, they're pap for babes and shop-boys! I was a blanky actor moyself!"
What'sh you two doing in that place this time of night eh?" "Beat it!" ordered Rough Rorke curtly. "That'sh all right." The young man came nearer. He balanced himself with difficulty, but upon him there appeared to have descended suddenly a vast dignity. "I'm hic law 'biding citizen. Gotta know. Gotta show me. Damn funny coming out of there this time of night! Eh what'sh the idea?"
Pickup behind me; "no pay, my dear, unlesh your Rembrandt ish good enough to take me in even me, Ishmael, who dealsh in pictersh and knowsh what'sh what." What did I care about Rembrandt at that moment? I was thinking of my lost young lady; and I should probably have taken no notice of Mr. Pickup, if it had not occurred to me that the old wretch must know her father's name and address.
It was quite light here from a nearby street lamp, and the owner of the whistle, a young man, fashionably dressed, decidedly unsteady on his legs, and just opposite the door as they came out, had stopped both his whistle and his progress along the street to stare at them owlishly. "'Ullo!" said the young man thickly. "What'sh all this about eh?
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