Gay, by his strokes of pleasantry, whether in his writings or conversation, never lost a friend. But if he speaks—I fear what he may tell. From the first there had always been between her and her listeners that electrical sympathy which only a certain order of genius seems able to create. ToC That night Jack walked to Paddington, and took up his quarters at a small tavern, called the Wheat-sheaf, near the green.
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