"Let me explain something to you, he said. If you want to get something out of a man, dashing out his brains against a lamppost isn't the way to do it."

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The rain was dashing in torrents against the window-panes, and the wind sweeping in heavy and fitful gusts along the dreary and deserted streets, as a party of three persons sat over their wine, in that stately old pile which once formed the resort of the Irish Members, in College Green, Dublin, and went by the name of Daly's Clubhouse.

— Charles Lever