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Updated: May 26, 2025
Dacre loved strong language as little as he loved a scene "let us trust to time and, a little, to your white-hatted and gardenia-buttonholed friend's word of honor. You should have thought of possible eventualities before you showed your confidence really. Suppose, instead of going mad, we first of all go home?" A hansom stood waiting for a fare at the end of the Arcade. Mr.
When they reached the Piccadilly end of the Arcade the duke pulled up. He looked about him. Mr. Dacre also looked about him. "I see nothing of your white-hatted and gardenia-buttonholed friend," said Ivor. The duke referred to his watch. "It's not yet half-past five. I'm up to time." Mr. Dacre held his stick in front of him and leaned on it. He indulged himself with a beatific smile.
"I don't want, Ivor, to suggest anything in the way of bribery and corruption, but if you could keep this matter to yourself, and not mention it to your friends, our white-hatted and gardenia-buttonholed acquaintance is welcome to his five hundred pounds, and Mabel, what on earth are you laughing at?" The duchess appeared, all at once, to be seized with inextinguishable laughter.
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