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. “I suppose most people’s letters are queer. “I am staying at the Savoy. The Oriental accepts my medicines kowtowing, and when my back is turned, chucks the stuff out of the window and burns joss-sticks. Who but you would have dreamed of giving the boy such a name? Why, it's the name of a river, not a Christian. The pause lengthened, and he had the satisfaction of seeing despair melt the set mockery of Spurlock's mouth. Gosse were you born, and Gosse will you remain to your death.
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