It became a sort of duel at last between them, and all the others sat and listened—every one, that is, except the Alderman, who had got the blond young man into a corner by the green-stained dresser with the aluminum things, and was sitting with his back to every one else, holding one hand over his mouth for greater privacy, and telling him, with an accent of confidential admission, in whispers of the chronic struggle between the natural modesty and general inoffensiveness of the Borough Council and the social evil in Marylebone. That was the only sound he heard. Their minds are turned against him. She was too late. Don't you hear how you've made it cry?" "Throttle the kid!" rejoined Blueskin, fiercely.
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