" At this moment, Saint Sepulchre's clock struck six. Let’s have an advance round of applause for our concertmaster, 249 Lucy Albert!” Lucy was horrified. Their example was immediately imitated by the officers, constables, javelin men, and other attendants; and nothing was to be heard but shouts of laughter and jesting,—nothing seen but the passing of glasses, and the emptying of foaming jugs. Prudence attacked her chicken wing. She quickened her pace, and so did he, talking at her slightly averted ear. .
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