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. His hand rested heavily and cruelly upon Ruth's shoulder. "No prize shall indushe me to enter dat horrid plashe again. “Or I know another one who wears cologne. " Some innate sense of balance told her that something was wrong with these tales.
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