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Rohmer, Sax, 1883-1959

"The Yellow Claw"

It theemth rude, I know--it
doth theem rude; but the fact of the matter ith I'm a tailor--thath's
my pithneth, a tailor. When I thay a tailor, I really mean a
breecheth-maker--tha'th what I mean, a breecheth-maker. Now thethe
timeth ith very hard timeth for breecheth-makerth."...
Dunbar finished his whisky, and quietly replaced the glass upon the
table, looking from Sowerby to Stringer with unmistakable significance.
Stringer emptied his glass of rum, and Sowerby disposed of his stout.
"I got thith letter lath night," continued the breeches-maker, bending
forward confidentially over the table. (The document looked at least
twelve months old.) "I got thith letter latht night with thethe three
fiverth in it; and not havin' no friendth in London--I'm an American
thitithen, by birth,--Levinthky, my name ith--Abraham Levinthky--I'm a
Noo Englander. Well, not havin' no friendth in London, and theein' you
three gentlemen thittin' here, I took the liberty"...
Dunbar stood up, glared at Levinsky, and stalked out of the
billiard-room, followed by his equally indignant satellites. Having
gained the outer door:
"Of all the blasted impudence!" he said, turning to Sowerby and
Stringer; but there was a glint of merriment in the fierce eyes. "Can
you beat that? Did you tumble to his game?"
Sowerby stared at Stringer, and Stringer stared at Sowerby.


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