"Where are you going, Fitztheron?" said a Conservative whipling. "I must go; I am paired till half-past eleven, and it wants some minutes, and my man is not here." "Confound it!" "How will it go?" "Gad, I don't know." "Fishy eh?" "Deuced!" said the under-whip in an under-tone, pale and speaking behind his teeth.
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