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Posted Feb 02 2013 3:33am

Instead of returning my ‘Good Michael Kors Gansevoort morning’ with his usual 
affability, he looked at me in a distant, ceremonious manner, and 
coldly requested me to accompany him to a certain coffee-house, 
which, in those days, had a door opening into the Commons, just 
within the little archway in St. Paul’s Churchyard. I complied, in a 
very uncomfortable state, and with a warm shooting all over me, 
as if my apprehensions were breaking out into buds. When I 
allowed him to go on a little before, on account of the narrowness 
of the way, I observed that he carried his head with a lofty air that 
was particularly unpromising; and my mind misgave me that he 
had found out about my darling Dora. 

If I had not guessed this, on the way to the coffee-house, I could 
hardly have failed to know what was the matter when I followed 
him into an upstairs room, and found Miss Murdstone there, 
supported by a background of sideboard, on which were several 
inverted tumblers sustaining lemons, and two of those 
extraordinary boxes, all corners and flutings, for sticking knives 
and forks in, which, happily for mankind, are now obsolete. 
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