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J. J. O'Molloy's white careworn face was told that Mr Lambert was in the warehouse with a visitor. A stout lady stopped, took a copper coin from her purse and dropped it into the cap held out to her. The sailor grumbled thanks, glanced sourly at the unheeding windows, sank his head and swung himself forward four strides. He halted and growled angrily: For England...
That he had prepared his speech I do not believe for there was not even one shorthandwriter in the hall. His dark lean face had a growth of shaggy beard round it. His gaze turned at once but slowly from J. J. O'Molloy's towards Stephen's face and then bent at once to the ground, seeking. His unglazed linen collar appeared behind his bent head, soiled by his withering hair.
And lo, there entered one of the clan of the O'Molloy's, a comely hero of white face yet withal somewhat ruddy, his majesty's counsel learned in the law, and with him the prince and heir of the noble line of Lambert. Hello, Ned. Hello, Alf. Hello, Jack. Hello, Joe. God save you, says the citizen. Save you kindly, says J. J. What'll it be, Ned? Half one, says Ned. So J. J. ordered the drinks.
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