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Thank Heaven, sir, you have not the irritable temperament, that you
are not goaded to madness by your endogenous sneers, by the eternal
wrangling of an uncomfortable soul and body. I tell you, I lead a cat
and dog life--But what IS the use of talking?--It's all of a piece!"
He tossed his head with unspeakable self-disgust, pitched the lemon
squash into his mouth, paid for it, and without any further remark
strode to the door. Mr. Hoopdriver was still wondering what to say when
his interlocutor vanished. There was a noise of a foot spurning the
gravel, and when Mr. Hoopdriver reached the doorway, the man in drab was
a score of yards Londonward. He had already gathered pace. He pedalled
with ill-suppressed anger, and his head was going down. In another
moment he flew swiftly out of sight under the railway arch, and Mr.
Hoopdriver saw him no more.
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