“I hope that you are going to allow me to see something of you during your stay in London, for the sake of old times. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. His hands came up, his face broke apart. Wood brought up. "Oh, lud! what's that?" exclaimed a female voice, from an adjoining room. "Your business, Sir?" returned the other, stiffly. Clientèle was of the most transitory character. The wine bubbled and seethed; and the exquisite bouquet of oranges permeated the room.
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