“Had the pleasure of dining with you at the ‘Ambassador’s’ one night, before the show, you know—last September I think it was. ‘Not yet, madame. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. “Nevertheless,” Hill said doggedly, “I am here to speak to you alone. "You've got him?" demanded Ireton.
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