‘I’m taking you to Gerald, my girl. The shops were lighting up into gigantic lanterns of color, the street lamps were glowing into existence, and she had lost her way. “Who’ll mind the baby nar?” was one of the night’s inspirations, and very frequent. Latterly I’ve been doing things. Old Kesterton, choleric-looking individual nearly opposite, will curse the cooking till he’s black in the face, but he never misses a dinner.
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