On the same peg and evidently belonging to it was a black velvet Zouave jacket. What beasts men are! I cannot typewrite, my three stories are still wandering round, two milliners have refused me as a lay figure because business was so bad. One who—who—tres. From the portals of the hotel—scarcely fifty yards from the canal—one saw the blank face of the ancient city of Canton. First, I went to Country Tom's, the Goat, in Long Lane.
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