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It’s just upon my lunch-time. " "That's the way it goes. ” “God send you may never repent it!” cried Capes. " There had never been, from that fatal hour eight months gone down to this, the inclination to confess. Besides these there was a warm gooseberry-tart, and a cold pigeon pie—the latter capacious enough, even allowing for its due complement of steak, to contain the whole produce of a dovecot; a couple of lobsters and the best part of a salmon swimming in a sea of vinegar, and shaded by a forest of fennel.
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