The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. He had never wanted daughters. The same teardrop bust, the same long waist, the same thick legs. ‘You ain’t got nothing on me. Them young prigs is all alike. " "Not quite," replied the manager.
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