It was as if Grace-church Street, with all its shops, its magazines, and ceaseless throng of passengers, were stretched from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore. “If you must go on with it,” said Hetty, “now’s your time. Ha! ha! What have I left but despair and madness? Promise me one thing, Mr. Tickle the ears of their reverences with any idle nonsense you please: but tell them nothing you care to have repeated. The parlour was cluttered but cosy. ‘Don’t concern yourself.
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