Those who had pence in their pockets
generally entered through the swinging doors; those who had not, looked
in with growing envy and increasing despair on their faces.
Dent was by no means a sober person, and more than one public-house
in David Street knew him well; but he was bound now for the more select
Star and Garter, and did not pause before any of the swing-doors. The
gas-lamps in David Street were few and far between, and Dent presently
came to a part of the street which evidently remained after nightfall
in a state bordering on darkness. He planted his foot in a puddle; he
nearly slipped on a piece of orange-peel, and found himself swearing
under his breath. The next moment, out on the still night air, floated
a heavenly sound. It was a woman's voice, singing a rollicking sailor-
song. Pure and limpid rose the notes--the air was very taking. There
was a chorus to the song, in which many voices joined vigorously.
Between the choruses came the single, sweet, captivating voice.
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