The room in which this interview took place had a sordid and miserable look. “Maybe we could swing a scholarship to Boston College for you, you know, with your violin and all. Starting off at a rapid pace, Jack dashed down Turnagain-lane, skirted the eastern bank of Fleet-ditch, crossed Holborn Bridge, and began to ascend the neighbouring hill. The wine bubbled and seethed; and the exquisite bouquet of oranges permeated the room.
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