Kneebone, who had drained his glass to the restoration of the house of Stuart, and the downfall of the house of Hanover, more frequently than was consistent with prudence, consented; and the trio set out for Wych Street, where they arrived in the jolliest humour possible. John sat pensively in the back of his best friend's mother's minivan, piloted by his best friend Mark. “Can you spare me a moment?” he asked. “Useless—worse than useless. " "So she was," replied the woollen-draper, helping himself to an enormous pinch of snuff with the air of a man who does not dislike to be rallied about his gallantry,—"so she was. . “John,” she said, “I am afraid that I am going to make you unhappy. You were pointed out to me at—a few nights ago. And Lady Trafford having been carried down stairs, and placed within it, the postboy drove off, at a rapid pace for Barnet.
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