“I’ve got it. No sooner had they entered the room than Sharples, who waited to usher them in, hastily retreated, closed the door, and turning the key, laughed loudly at the success of his stratagem. The woollen-draper was no despicable trencherman in a general way; but his feats with the knife and fork were child's sport compared with those of Mr. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations.
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