The galleries adjoining it were crowded with spectators,—so was the roof of a large tavern, then the only house standing at the end of the Edgeware Road,—so were the trees,—the walls of Hyde Park,—a neighbouring barn, a shed,—in short, every available position. As for Mike’s observations on John’s desires to get laid, it was the pot calling the kettle black. He uttered a deep groan, but said nothing.
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