The solemn strokes were immediately answered by a multitude of chimes, sounding across the Thames, amongst which the deep note of Saint Paul's was plainly distinguishable. No more. Lucy thought of a song that she had not been able to get out of her head since the Fifties. Drummond smoked his cigarette meditatively. "Perhaps he means well. It is positively hateful to think of it. “Rummy lot we are!” said Roddy. "You're a bold fellow, Jack," rejoined the blacksmith. Anna was more difficult. "Right to a farthing. These were his mistresses, Poll Maggot and Edgeworth Bess.
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