" The woollen-draper replied by gallantly handing her the box, which was instantly snatched from her by Blueskin, who, after helping himself to as much of its contents as he could conveniently squeeze between his thumb and finger, put it very coolly in his pocket. ‘Melusine…Melusine. ‘Talk to me another time. And this great mellow place, this London, now was hers, to struggle with, to go where she pleased in, to overcome and live in. Having disposed of his steed and swallowed a glass of brandy, without taking any other refreshment, he threw himself on a couch, where he sank at once into a heavy slumber. You creep around in a nun’s habit, peering into a private ballroom. " "I don't wonder at it," rejoined Gay.
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