But what of poor Sir C as he gaily trips through London in his finest Prince of Wales check natty suitings, boots from Lobbs and with Mr Locke's finest work adorning his bonce, only for his poor nostrils to be assailed by the reek of thousands of drunkards' stale feculence? You know he's a sensitive soul and may faint dead away in such a situation.
St Giles High St though. Not a place to trouble a gentleman.
Originally Posted by Burney
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