The things we do!

Warrington especially he was an object of endless delight and amusement
and wonder. He would roll and smoke countless paper cigars, talking
unrestrainedly when we were not busy, silent when we were engaged; he
would only rarely partake of our meals, and altogether refused all offers
of pecuniary aid. He disappeared at dinner-time into the mysterious
purlieus of Leicester Square, and dark ordinaries only frequented by
Frenchmen. As we walked with him in the Regent Street precincts, he would
exchange marks of recognition with many dusky personages, smoking bravos;
and whiskered refugees of his nation.
"That gentleman," he would say, "who has done me the honour to salute me,
is a coiffeur of the most celebrated; he forms the deuces of our
table-d'hote. 'Bon jour, mon cher monsieur!' We are friends, though not
of the same opinion. Monsieur is a republican of the most distinguished;
conspirator of profession, and at this time engaged in constructing an
infernal machine to the address of His Majesty, Louis Philippe, King of
the French.


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