” “But Hainault—was—a pal. His pipe hung dead in his teeth, but the smoke was dense about him. Gay, the poet, who wrote the 'Captives,' which was lately acted at Drury Lane, and was so much admired by the Princess of Wales. He placed his chin upon the top of her head. “Hello, Teddy!” she answered. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. She said that your mother was only fifteen when she went to live with them.
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