But take a drop of wine," urged he, filling a drinking-horn and presenting it to her; "it's choice canary, and'll do you good. ’ ‘Don’t talk soft,’ begged Martha. And now let's go back to the Shovels, and finish our brandewyn and bier, Muntmeester. She was with these movements—akin to them, she felt it at times intensely—and yet something eluded her. Ye gods! what a wilderness it is! Every one trying to get the better of every one, every one regardless of every one—it’s one of those days when every one bumps against you—every one pouring coal smoke into the air and making confusion worse confounded, motor omnibuses clattering and smelling, a horse down in the Tottenham Court Road, an old woman at the corner coughing dreadfully—all the painful sights of a great city, and here you come into it to take your chances. "No"—as if her thoughts were elsewhere. Quilt was not long in following his example.
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