It was crowded, between the
spittoons, with little cast-iron tables, covered with dirty
table-cloths spread upon American cloth and garnished with artificial
flowers and napkins of Japanese paper. Farrell called them
'serviettes.' He also said he felt 'peckish.' I--well, I had taken
the precaution of dining at Boodle's, and responded that I was rather
for the bucket than the manger. He considered this for some time and
then laughed so loudly that all the anarchists in the room looked up
as if one of their bombs had gone off by mistake. . . . Oh, I omitted
to mention that all the space left unoccupied by cigarette-smoke and
the smell of garlic was crowded with anarchists, all dressed for the
part. They wore black ties with loose ends, fed with their hats on,
and read Italian newspapers--like a musical comedy. The waiters
looked like stage-anarchists, too; but you could easily tell them
from the others because they went about in their shirt-sleeves.
"Farrell caught the eye of one of these bandits, who came along with
a great neuter cat rubbing against his legs.
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