'That's my paper,' it seemed to say, 'by all the rights of man; and that low-class fellow sellin' it, takin' away my profits!' "I sells this 'ere Westminister.

I reads it on Sundays--it's a gentleman's paper, 'igh-class paper--notwithstandin' of its politics.
But, Lor', sir, with this 'ere man a-sellin' the Pell Mell"-- lowering his voice, he invited Hilary to confidence--"so many o' the gentry takes that; an' there ain't too many o' the gentry about 'ere--I mean, not o' the real gentry--that I can afford to 'ave 'em took away from me." Hilary, who had stopped to listen out of delicacy, had a flash of recollection.

"You live in Hound Street ?" The old man answered eagerly: "Oh dear! Yes, sir--No.

1, name of Creed.
You're the gentleman where the young person goes for to copy of a book!" "It's not my book she copies." "Oh no; it's an old gentleman; I know 'im.

He come an' see me once.
He come in one Sunday morning.