Meanwhile, the mob outside had prodigiously increased, and had begun to exhibit some disposition to riot. Mike chortled. He would get her to come to tea with him, usually in a pleasant tea-room over a fruit-shop in Tottenham Court Road, and he would discuss his own point of view and hint at a thousand devotions were she but to command him. It seemed to emanate from the back of the house. All the money he earned—serving McClintock and the muse—could be laid away. I hate children. You know that.
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