Lucy stole her last chance to observe Martin Chen, looking provocatively into his 257 eyes as the door was shut. "Well, Jack," said the prize-fighter, in a rough, but friendly voice, and with a cutand-thrust abrupt manner peculiar to himself; "how are you, lad, eh? Sorry to see you here. Happily they had no one else to wait for, and it heartened her mightily to think that she had ordered the promptest possible service of the dinner.
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