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Wells, H. G. (Herbert George), 1866-1946

"The Wheels of Chance: a Bicycling Idyll"

Heaven send,
his breath, which was already getting a trifle spasmodic, did not
suddenly give out. He fixed his eye on the face of the fat man
with the chins, and spoke in a low, impressive voice. "I came
here, sir," said Mr. Hoopdriver, and paused to inflate his
cheeks, "with a lady."
"Very nice lady," said the man with the gaiters, putting his head
on one side to admire a pearl button that had been hiding behind
the curvature of his calf. "Very nice lady indeed."
"I came here," said Mr. Hoopdriver, "with a lady."
"We saw you did, bless you," said the fat man with the chins, in
a curious wheezy voice. "I don't see there's anything so very
extraordinary in that. One 'ud think we hadn't eyes."
Mr. Hoopdriver coughed. "I came, here, sir--"
"We've 'eard that," said the little man with the beard, sharply
and went off into an amiable chuckle. "We know it by 'art," said
the little man, elaborating the point.
Mr. Hoopdriver temporarily lost his thread. He glared malignantly
at the little man with the beard, and tried to recover his
discourse. A pause.
"You were saying," said the fair young man with the white tie,
speaking very politely, "that you came here with a lady."
"A lady," meditated the gaiter gazer.
The man in velveteen, who was looking from one speaker to another
with keen, bright eyes, now laughed as though a point had been
scored, and stimulated Mr. Hoopdriver to speak, by fixing him
with an expectant regard.
"Some dirty cad," said Mr.


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