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Updated: April 30, 2025
On those rare occasions when the Portier's wife awakened in the night and heard the twin clocks of the Votivkirche strike three, and listened, perhaps, while the delicatessen seller ambled home from the Schubert Society, singing beerily as he ambled, she was wont to hear from the bed beside hers the rhythmic respiration that told her how safe from Schubert Societies and such like evils was her lord.
Hamper bent to Dunbar and whispered, beerily, in his ear: "P'r'aps 'e don't want to 'ear, guv'nor!" "Oh! Why not?" "Well, 'e knows there's something up there!" "Therefore it's his plain duty to assist the police." "Same as what I does?" cried Hamper, raising his eyebrows. "Course it is! but 'ow d'you know 'e ain't been got at?" "Our friend, here, evidently has one up against Mr.
It was so unexpected that there was an involuntary lull in the proceedings. "Tom!" She pointed an accusing finger at the man, who gaped beerily. "Tom, who pinched farver's best trousers, and popped them?" There was a roar of laughter. A moment before, and Tom had been the pet of the market, the energetic leader, the champion potato-slinger. Now he was a thing of derision.
Hobbs protested indignantly, and beerily, but the constable explained that according to a strict reading of the Act, dogs were not liable to arrest, "and in the oye iv th' law," he said, "monkeys is dogs." Eventually, Ivo Hobbs went away in Constable Dunne's company to take out a summons.
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