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Updated: June 21, 2025
There was a moment's silence. Abraham Weavel leaned back in his chair and yawned. Peter Dale made a grimace of dissent. Maraton turned to one of the little company who as yet had scarcely opened his lips a thin, ascetic-looking, middle-aged man, who wore gold spectacles, and who had an air of refinement which was certainly not shared by any of the others. "And you, Mr.
"I submit, Mr. Chairman," he said arrogantly, "that when I had the privilege of being elected last April, no honorary member was present or allowed to speak." Mr. Weavel rose to his feet. "Gentlemen," he said, "you know what this meeting is.
It's all very well for Weavel and Dale there to talk, but there's no labour on God's earth so underpaid as the china and glass worker. We may not have the money saved that's simply because it takes my people all they can do to keep from starvation. I've figures here that'll prove what I say. I'll go so far as this there isn't a worse paid industry than mine in the United Kingdom."
"They can even speak, if invited to do so by the chairman for the day. I am sure that we are all of us very pleased indeed to welcome Mr. Dartrey and Mr. Tallente." There was a murmur of approval, in one or two cases a little dubious. Dartrey smiled a greeting at Weavel. "I have asked Mr.
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