I suppose the phrase—the word—originally meant a man who searched for food on the beach. Marvel, who had been a little discomposed by the treatment he had experienced on Holborn Hill, very composedly filled and lighted his pipe. “I am sick of it. If you noticed, our house is fairly close to the road. I suppose this is the sort of damned rubbish—” “Oh! Ssh, Peter!” cried Miss Stanley. On the floor, underneath the sixth row desks, was an ashtray with a small black dot of blood on its blunt round corner.
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