“It does not appear to me,” he said, stiffly, “to be an affair for jests. They've paid for their lodging. Yet in some hidden corner was a vein of sentiment, of which for the first time in his later life he was now unexpectedly aware. —'We'll do it,' said they, filling their glasses, and looking as fierce as King George's grenadier guards; 'here's your health, Mint. A small handgun bobbed at the end of it, aimed at Sheila.
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