The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. If I did not love you en désespoir, I would assuredly blow off your head. “I must go. How you dress when you're loafing will be no concern of mine; but fresh twill or Shantung, when you dine with me, collar and tie. But I tell you in return, I shall take no pains to hide myself.
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