From the further end of the apartment came the low music of a violin. No one ate with as much passionate gusto as a teenager could. His literary instincts were reviving. His pipe hung dead in his teeth, but the smoke was dense about him. ’ ‘In a somewhat roundabout fashion, if you ask me,’ came in a mutter from her old nurse, very much in her usual style. "After all our pains we were near losing him, Sir Rowland. "Close the door!" commanded Trenchard, impatiently. "Now, lead me to a hotel where I can get breakfast. I've a shrewd guess where he's taken refuge; but I'll ferret him out. No good at all.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQ0LjExNi42OSAtIDEwLTA2LTIwMjQgMDE6Mjg6MDMgLSAxNjQzNTY1OTk0
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