Her sense of humour could not wholly resist his abnormal gravity. It seemed to her that it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest against his advances as an insult. "O, Lord!" ejaculated Wood. Happened to be at the Chariot, you know, with Trodger, and it’s review day. ‘That is good,’ she said with satisfaction, ‘for I was compelled on Saturday to abandon the chase. My heart misgives me. While the cloth was laid, the host and Thames descended to the cellar, whence they returned, laden with a number of flasks of the same form, and apparently destined to the same use as those depicted in Hogarth's delectable print—the Modern Midnight Conversation. It did so well that they sold it in the nineties.
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