And thus he effected his escape from the New Prison. 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. One side of the face was white with foamy lather and the other ruddy-cheeked and blue-jawed. “How could it not have hurt?” His analytical side started putting in overtime. “A sex of blacklegging clients. .
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